Watching the Skies

The moon was slowly consumed by the shadow of earth
But life continued its unending cycle of misery and mirth
For if math and science have stolen from us that which was magic
And the heavens movements we no longer look upon, it is tragic
If the stars and moon hold no stories and myths anymore
And we’ve lost the art of telling stories and have no lore
Yet, for a moment perhaps within the movement of the week
We stopped for a moment, looked into the early morning sky to peek
At this brief disturbance of the heavens above and understood
How this event might have been read in the past for evil or for good
Questioning how our ancestor’s fecund imaginations might
Explain the darkening of the moon in the waning hours of the night
And crafted tales from holy to the obscene
To pass on to their families and kin what they had seen
While they watched the heaven to try to learn
Some piece of guidance for their earth-bound sojourn
Or how when the sun’s rays began to paint the sky and the cloud
In a palette of reds and purples and blues so bright and so loud
A picture more vivid that any done with paint and canvas and brush
Were the work of their creator’s hand as the heavens commenced to blush
For the piece of beauty that unfolds before our sight as day ends the night
Is a work of no dyes or colors but a painting of pure unaltered light
Celebrating the death of the night and the resurrection of the day
In a magical world where the children of men may run and play
Yet, for a moment perhaps within the movement of the sky
We stopped for a moment, looking into the morning sky wondering why
These brilliant red skies which evanescently decorate the transition from night
Once gave ancient sailors warning where we only take a brief delight
As they searched the heavens for signs while they crossed the hostile deep
Looking to stars, clouds and wind for signs they might keep
Watching the heavens above trying to learn
Some piece of guidance for their nautical sojourn

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