Its contours ever darkness-scarred

The sun does droop with epic effort;
Land alight for another day;
Slowly sways beyond hills to slumber;
Amidst encroaching gray;

Each shade of the day retires;
First bright citrus fades away;
Then complex tones of earth and blood;
On dancing meadows lay;

The disc, alight, does bid adieu;
Followed by its color guard;
Until the land grows cold and quiet;
Its contours ever darkness-scarred

A night so dark that even flame is frightened;
Into a dull monotone;
Where the Earth exhales, and slowly whispers;
The sacred mantra om;

Here I stand [poem]

Here I stand;
As saplings flap and dance in speckled light;
Then grow coarse and woody;
And become the blue-gray sentinels that watch, silent;

Here I stand;
As the cliffside smarts;
When the salted fists crash against its rocky skin;
And the crags wear smooth;
Reaching old age as but pebbles;

Here I stand;
As the old mill, long closed and shuttered;
Creaks and groans in a crescendo;
Consumed by a creeping rust, until nothing remains;

Here I stand;
As the stars extinguish, one by one;
The sky grows unfamiliar;
All that has is gone and done;
And yet, here I stand;