Poetry Journal April 9, 2024

 

It is there, and then it’s not.

That blinding orb we have come to depend on,

Vanishing for those few minutes and bring out in our that primitive fear e first felt way back when we painted our fears on the walls of caves,

We see it leave and e feel its absence as if the whole universe vanished in those few moments it took for our moon to pass over the face of our sun

We here on the surface of our world, stripped naked, vulnerable to the will ouf “the gods”,

As savage and scared as we ever were, staring up into the brightness, blinding not by the intensity of light, but its lack of.


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