Through splinters, scratches, and scars
I made it to the top
Of the tallest tree that I could find.
An oak.

From here I could make out my town,
The hills beyond the city lines,
And the edge of the Earth.
A sight.

Squinting, I could make out just beyond the horizon:
A battle between light and dark, day and night.
The Sun, holding onto the edge of the world,
Falls at dusk.

He is no match for the weight of the night sky
With the Moon and the stars crashing down.
Even the brightest flower cedes to the dark
Once a day.

*This is a personal poem not affiliated with any news item of the day