By: Robert Bermudez

I stand and watch the sunset,
Russet, then orange fading to pink,
The cloud’s gilded edges reflecting,
Like God saying good night.

Slowly it dawns as it always does,
With the inevitable ache of mythic echoes,
The end of the Day is the start of the Night,
The same spectacle through familiar eyes.

I can hear it whisper softly,
You are watching your Heroes get old.