Cold Light of Day

In the cold light of day when candles burn no more, their wicks like blackened tails in gelling pools of wax; the night has slipped away and spirits cease to soar, to stars on solar gales as lightning whips and cracks. In the cold light of day when love lies on the sheets in cooling shades of pink and blonde hair turns to white; the words are hard to say, and in the throat retreats for thoughts are hard to think they form then take to flight. In the cold light of day when beams impale the eyes the retinas turn blue with all illusions flown; and clarity holds sway, no matter how one tries there's nothing more to do but reap the harvest sown.