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.