Passages

 

The night moon sits, lingering,

bright but hidden

behind the evening clouds.

How soon,

‘twas only noon

a few minutes ago,

the sun shining, its glow

large with dreams, with hope.

The day moon looked on then too,

light gray within the blue,

faint but present,

an augury of things to come,

too easily ignored by most of us,

less foreshadow, more omen.

When the final moment arrives,

as it assuredly must,

filtered by the end’s dark dust,

yet with a light brighter than

the moon and  stars,

it will be the middle of the night.

No matter the time.

One will know that the past

ended yesterday, 

and in the end,

our lives are simply stories,

and the dark of night 

comes all too soon.

So much 

for man.

The world 

will proceed

with its plan