Moon In Apocalypse

Weep pale moon in pastel blue.
Your morning is at hand.
The nightingale performs a threnody
In shadows of your fading splendor.
 
The sparrows and gulls
Express a new day paradox
In mocking your humble submission,
While praising the exalted sun.
 
Alas, poor moon.
Your fading countenance
Speaks of love unrequited,
Of talent unrealized,
Like a priest who's missed his calling,
Like knowledge unapplied.
 
I know your plight, oh tempted moon,
Once so bright and high.
In sovereign glory, night's brightest sphere,
So overcome with pride.
 
A house is not a home.
Your light was not your own,
But from a greater source
With whom you're now divorced.
 
You gave no honor to the sun.
You gloated in black space.
O ancient rock in heaven's spance,
So like the human race.
 
Alas, poor race.
Weep now, you souls in horrid black.
Your mourning is at hand.
The archangel performs a threnody
In light of the coming judgment.
 
The angels and saints
Express a new day paradox
In mocking your humble submission
While praising the exalted Son.

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