chiaroscuro

The days grow shorter. Darkness comes sooner. Ike, in the following poem, looks to those spots of light in the dark.

By Ike Spry 

When the sun decides to leave us

And the moon looks abnormally large

The moonlight pricks up my arm hairs

And the streetlights shine bright, but are dull

The moths are led to the brightness

But I don’t think that was their free will

Maybe it was a shining beacon 

Or a gateway to the afterlife

The light will bring us together

And give us shelter in the abyss

But when the sky begins to brighten

And the sun creeps through the clouds

There’s nothing left to distract us

And our dullness is left to shine