I had a dream last night, that the moon shone in other skies.

And when I awoke, no sun in the still-night skies.

Where will it go now? The mighty sunlight across the universe,
that reflects upon the moon, and illuminates our night skies.

The mighty sun, he fed, and fed; he shone for the moon, even at bed.
And the moon, an emerald gem, she received- so gloriously in the night skies.

The moon aloof, so precious: her hold on the sun unlike any other;
he set her alight each tired sunset, the stars a mere stutter in the night skies.

But the moon now- my brother tells me- she illuminates another land.
And the sun- I see- christened in the abandoned skies.

My sister- she tells- of a rumbling so loud, in the the sky where the moon now resides.
Lighting and thunder roll through the clouds, ripping the bonds of the clockwork skies.

“But why, but why?” I hear him weep:
For her he tries, for her he shines, and for her, he will die, in the lonely skies.

And now the sun, green jealousy, asks every stranger he sees:
“Did she shine, that gem, in another’s skies?

From across the world I saw her, when she illuminates your night.
I set, she rose- I shine, she glows- like unbreakable prose- in our changing skies.

And I thought she shone for me,” his words a broken hearted mutter,
in the form of rain, his symphony, falling from the abandoned skies.

For days and days, he refused to shine, and nightmares plagued our dreams.
No cleansing ethereal moonlight tides up in those abandoned skies.

Finally, the moon returned, her light so different- another’s glow-
But our nightmares persistent, our fears confirmed: the sun had died. And now forever- midnight skies.