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Day To Day, Night To Night

Tue, Mar 6, 2012 at 7:16 AM By: Maiden of Malice

Dawn awoke herself prematurely
Just to run to your feet and bring you the day
In a broken mug that she made especially for you at birth,
A piece you keep only
Because it is the single possession
You treasure to the‘t’.
Her spirit is endless,
And her hair reflects the honest wonderment
Across the world
In hues of emotion.
Her face is sometimes flushed,
Reds, blues, purples, and oranges stain this messy child’s countenance.
She knows not of what you will do
Or where you will go,
But she does know the happiness she feels
When you come to greet her
And the sorrow when it comes time to part.
She sees only those who care enough to
Rise at her forthcoming,
But though she loves all dearly
And wishes nothing for them
But kept promises and renewal.
She must keep her visits brief and worthwhile,
Otherwise, the hearts of the humans
Will not long for her as intensely as they tend to do
And she may not seem as radiant in their eyes if overexposed.
Yet, there is nothing to fear and no reason for the heart to falter,
For she shall return on the morn
With your mug of potential
And the smile of reassurance.
But only if you, too, keep your appointment.

As Dawn gradually fades,
Another of Day’s children comes to call: Afternoon.
He is the teenager of all his siblings,
Sometimes walking briskly on the fractured sidewalks and ignoring you,
Sometimes slowing to a tick just to tease you.
He might wear trench coats and hats or hoodies and jeans,
But his vibe is often chill and relaxed.
No one knows what’s on his mind
Or the meaning behind his bipolar appearance,
Or even why we love him so much.
Perhaps it is because of his unexpectedness
And undetermined mood of hype or halt
That makes him quirky, and makes us love him.
Either way, that slinky Afternoon
Is always leaving without saying goodbye
And poor Dusk is left to the challenges
That his mother has left behind.
His twin, Dawn refuses to present herself in his desperation,
And brother Afternoon is selfish.
Dusk may be a hardy fellow,
But the job of cleaning your hours is far too strenuous.
After a few short tocks, Dusk cries for his father: Night.

Night is a showy man,
Cheating on his wife with the
Flashy moon and her slaving stars.
Day knows completely of the affair,
But she feels it justified:
After all, she has caught the attention of Shadows,
Not to mention the many, many people.
The poor children of Night and Day,
So sickened with grief should one of them die,
And torn with hatred at their open disagreeance.
Sometimes they harmonize,
But there is often harsh dissonance and fire and ice.
Afternoon, Dawn, and Dusk are almost always heartbroken,
Especially because their father loves his stepchild more than them:
Midnight, with her skin so pale and her eyes so bright,
With her head held high and her fist clenched tight.

Once upon a time, Day and Night were one,
But much of that truth is falsified,
So who knows what to believe?
We do know this:
They beg you forgive them for their ways
And to their children,
May your respect be paid.

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