The Waning Light
The light that always cry,
When darkness is bright.
It is not so discipline,
But toss around by all factors.
The rays that from it emanate,
Did pleasant thrills to all animate.
But for the death of its benefactor,
The switcher does his pride lean.
It would have been,
To itself a Lord.
But the things of which it sought,
Wroth it vividly unseen.
This waning light is the light of our clan,
That had been murdered by their plan.
c.2017
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