The Sun, a Ballade

April 8, 2012

No campaign could ever convince
no brave prophet, however bold
could share what his dreams did evince
Never believed though we were told
that man would ever lose his hold,
that control could ever be won.
Never believed we’d feel this cold:
The great erasure of the sun.

We tore up all offending prints
burned the heretic books of old
cast their writers out as cretins
swore as one, we would never fold
that we would never be cajoled
we believed it could not be done,
a story we wouldn’t be sold:
The great erasure of the sun.

But O, for all those ignored hints,
the day it came, the sky burned gold,
the sun burst with one final glint
flaming rains fell, the sky it rolled
lightning struck, booming thunder growled
the omen of the fallen one
coming down to collect our souls,
The great erasure of the sun.

When will you come to us, O Prince,
keeper of night, when will you come?
We wait for you here, have been since
The great erasure of the sun.


Originally posted in Form Focus at poetry-here-and-now.