This poem I wrote back in May of this year. To me, it is one of those poems in which the words really go well together. All too often, poetry can appear forced or can be jolting. Granted, there may be a demand for that sort of thing, but it is not my preferred work. This poem is simple on the surface, but has quite a bit going on underneath.


Rays of gold die,

slivers of black rise,

last gasps of light,

turn day into night


The splendor of sight,

the mystery of night,

the bustle of day,

fireflies in May


In day, in the fray,

at night, still a stray,

though yellow fades away,

life, here to stay

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