By Zak Whittington

Every eve at the morning of night,
A battle begins in the skies,
An epic clash ‘twixt the sun and the moon,
Over whose light will shine in her eyes

The opening volley strikes at the heart,
The center of the mismatched eyes,
A battle ensues fought not by force,
But by love, virtues, and lies

The sun, it speaks of homely ideals,
Of warmth, belonging, and binding,
Of chirping birds and fresh spring air,
Of sandy beaches, endless and winding

The moon whispers fathomless secrets,
Of stardust and ethereal splendor,
Exposes its dazzling, icy sweet light,
And helpless the eyes are rendered

The moon’s brief victory in the eyes,
Is cherished, sporadic, and fleeting,
While the sun’s is inevitable, endless, unstoppable
But as mundane as a heart’s slow beating

Sun and moon orbit in an endless dance,
Each is a lover, a liar, a sinner,
But while both of their lights revolve in the skies
Neither can be the true winner