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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