The fruit has ripened.
But it hangs high on the tree.
It will ripen further and die,
Slowly.
The sun will hit it hard.
The moon will not help at all.
The best thing for it to do is
Fall.
Birds may help it perhaps,
Maybe a strong breeze,
A god may help, if it says
Please.
Knowing providence though,
It’s more likely to hang and rot,
It’s one of those things that love just
Forgot.
It does look tasty and juicy,
But it’s so very, very high,
I might as well give up before I
Try.
Once again I find myself
Alone, in the arms of Night;
Where else could I be,
As the mighty Sun gears up to fight?
He governs the world
And every Law of the Land:
Hope must bend to Him
And Love must understand.
The Moon is the quiet Wife,
The stars are each a far-off Son;
Against the Sire who else can shine?
Before His Light each is made to fade or run.
The Sun burns.
He compels me to bend.
The moon soothes,
Even if She cannot defend.
Light cancels Dark –
Law and Order shine best;
But I am the Dark,
I am that Time of Rest.
Nature loves both equal:
Be it Moth or Butterfly,
It is free to choose Night or Day,
As your Time to Live or Die.
So I have walked in Dark,
I have not feared the Night,
I have loved the quiet Moon
And I have chosen not to fight.
I am the one who’s supposed to love thee –
And age has been mercilessly cruel –
Its rampage has destroyed both love and hope,
Like careful fire thrown on some spilt fuel.
I was raised looking up at and to you,
In life’s battles you gained an awesome height.
I took your word as the ultimate law,
And I was never one to choose to fight.
Time, unfailingly, is the best teacher,
It raises the weak and topples the high,
It marks the practice against the preacher,
It stand right up and demands to know why.
Blind was supposed to be all love for thee,
Now how do I do, for now I can see.
Hearts Still Care 
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