By Della Viola
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.
Together they dance around their world.
Never setting eyes on the other – they twirl.
They glide effortlessly. Perfectly. Half and half.
She warms her child with her sunny disposition.
He covers his child – a cool blanket of slumber.
Their children lived, thrived, and died.
But they were ancient from creation.
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.
The difference was but a tiny one.
The presence and absence set them apart – photons.
The tiny difference gave them an identity, a purpose, a sense of divinity.
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.
Their trust enveloped them in a tangible sphere.
It burned all intruding celestial fears
before they reached the pier.
None could taint this holy matrimony,
as the ozone layer assured harmony.
But alas!
One asteroid, ten kilometers wide,
seduced her way, lodging between
the trust that once was.
It couldn’t protect them this time.
Their poor little child got caught in between.
Blistering. Burning. A picture of hell.
Screaming in agony.
Scathed ashes.
Cremated.
And all that was left was –
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.
Their home, now desolate,
looked like a casket.
The child lay still.
Ice-age cold.
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.
Five times over.
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.
Then they began again.
Their children ran far and wide.
They cast shadows. Carried little lamps
to remind their wellspring of each other,
who couldn’t see the face of one another.
Light and Dark.
Dark and Light.