Molten Poetry

Let it burn.

Traced gently,
the subtle arc
between dawn
and dusk, where

Old Sun rises
to fulfill a trust,
then sets Westward
to refill his cup

from the vessel
of the mother,
sleeping eternal
in the blackest gulf,

where light dies
and is reborn,
so mother’s quest
can be won

and the Earth
can be warmed
in cycles, from
dusk ’til dawn.

 

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