Sunrise
The sharp, silent clang of light on dark,
the subtle infiltration into the enemy,
another bright arrow hits its mark,
dissolving stars into transparency.
The bright flash of orange, the glimpse of red,
the armor of the good and right,
sensing a loss with impending dread,
desertion thins the ranks of night.
The final soldier of dark is all that stands,
the crescent of the nocturnal moon,
retreating slowly across the lands,
he knows his end, he feels his doom.
The battlefield sky is swept clean again,
the light, hopeful for a bright clean day;
the sun wishes for what might have been,
as humanity throws the brightness away.
The sun then falls back toward the ground,
the darkness once more takes control;
the protectors of light, where they may be found,
watch for sunrise, accepting their role.
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