Scanning the afternoon, he walks,
gliding on fallen leaves and trees
and animals he no longer stalks;
his sights set higher for humanity’s scare.
Shots fired in a distant haze,
as terror erupts from pious pillars
and ruptured canopies, left dazed
by disaster in evening air.
Setting in the far off sky,
a reddened oval sinking,
longing, waiting, to die
in the blistering way it seems to fight.
No one gathers there among
the deadening light to mourn
the day he shot the sun;
no one watched it bleed its final light.
*The end was near, the dark in sight,
his need for fear, his ending plight,
the darkness ate the world for fun,
that was the day he shot the sun.*