The Fight of Dusk

His is ruling now,
Staff in hand waiting,
Ready for the Fight of Dusk.

The Soldier and the Old Man of Day meet.
A battle field stands between them,
Covered in small white flowers and sweet grass.

To the Old Man of Day, the Soldier calls,
"What terms be there?"
He stands tall, unyielding, now.

To the Soldier, the Old Man of Day calls,
"That my wife live free."
He strokes his beard with gnarled fingers.

To the Soldier, the Old Man of Day invites,
"What terms be yours?"
The Soldier smirks, prideful.

To the Old Man of Day, the Soldier replies,
"That you stay always, Old Man!"
The Old Man of Day smiles, quietly.

The Soldier holds up his sword.
The Old Man of Day lifts his oaken staff.
They charge, with hate and wisdom in tow.

The Soldier makes first hit,
And the Old Man of Day stumbles.
But a simple lie was the fall.

The Old Man of Day gains his footing,
Swings around with brute force.
The Soldier tries to avoid, but can't.

The Old Man of Day backs away,
Allowing the Soldier to get up.
He jumps from the ground.

Once again they meet.
Dancing around and again,
A symmetrical and terrible waltz.

Rustic though he is,
The Old Man of Day is strong.
He slowly tames the beast, the Soldier.

The soldier falls.
Piecemeal, he reaches Mother Earth.
He cries out in shame and agony.

By the side of the Old Man of Day,
A woman appears suddenly,
With beauty like the moon.

She grasps her husband's staff,
And together, hands entwined,
They swing at the Soldier.

The Old Man of Day passionately kisses his wife,
Then, with peace in heart,
Slips away into the Dusk.

As the Maiden of Night Stands,
Tall, proud, beautiful as the sea,
She begins her lament for her husband, the Old Man of Day.

She rules now,
Staff in hand waiting,
Ready for the Fight of Dawn.