They drift, as do we, to and fro following the path drawn by the gods. Frozen in action, their pulling force, infinitely they orbit endlessly they fall. Opposing domains, night and day, mutually reliant by the recognition of the other. For if not for the sun dark would not be day. If not for the moon light would be night. A perpetual blaring of one reality. A world locked to a state. When then would the angels walk? Would the devils scour the Earth? It is the contesting force of day and night which defines the hells as dark and the heavens as light. The billion year dance, the age old fight. It is the moon to which we owe our morning, and the sun to which we owe our night. Around they dance, in perpetuity.

The star that bleeds the light of my world will collapse and consume me.

drip, drip, drip,
the cold bead slides
through the slits of bark.

drip, drip, drip
the leaves bear weight
of a thousand drops.

drip, drip, drip
the crack of the bark
the rip of the leaves
the winds pressure
the roots.
the branches pressure
the tree.

The fruit falls.
The land needs.
The bark snaps.
The tree bleeds.

drip, drip, drip,
the cold bead slides
through the slits of the bark.

Murky water,
Depthless mud,
Drown by chains,
Bound by blood.

Onlooker, the key,
History, the judge,
Neglect, the decision.
Doomed to the sludge.

Filament of algae,
A shaky explanation.
The onlooker runs,
Blood left to damnation.

Onlooker lives,
Lacking of blood.
Drinking away his memories,
Of the murky water, and depthless mud.