Low Noon

My silence can hear them now,
The midday shrieks
Stillborn for another consequence.
I am abandoned betrothed to the Sun’s
Succulent high, the sky rims
The Elder frame for a journey
Across the actual horizon.
But to this quest, I ask of God
Upon his chariots of fire horses lie
If I can lie beside him;
Travel the century of the day;
And die at the setting
Of the purples and the reds
And cry at the Goddess’s nocturnal
Wake. For I lack the insomnia
To reach her.
Never will I greet the dusk or dawn
Or the Fae and their dew.
As I am stuck, always stuck
At the highest of high noons.

9/21/14