I have just learned
the dark secret
of the sun:
he only seems
to share his warmth
with everyone,
but this charity
is only illusion:
really he is seeking
the elusive moon—
casting his arc
from dawn to twilight
in fleeting passes
but missing the mark
as he slips
helpless
again
into night,
weeping blood
and burning white
for a love unrequited
he can never see,
hold or unite with
yet still he persists—
sustaining worlds
on the thought
of her lips,
oblivious
to the odds
of a solar eclipse—
and never caring
that their untimely union
would surely portend
apocalypse.
© Psyche Marks 2007