A tree reached into the dawning sky,
Crimson and lemon leaves hanging
In the calm, crisp air.
Its great trunk thrust up as
A shadow weaving its arms around
The stars and coaxing nightfall into
Its veins. No mere beauty could
Spring from it.
Dusk was its name, the
Jewel of an ancient dream. And on
One glorious day that aspiration
Rose, staked itself like a crown
Upon Dusk’s powerful visage.
Ever since, we have watched
The sun die in Dusk’s arms.
Once life began, it began
To end. Yet, that one moment of
Rising through the deepest night
Keeps us coming back to life.
Copyright 2010 by Michael Marsters.
All rights reserved.