The Retrograde Cross

Of days long hours, none are like the first, 
they start as midnight ticks away its last.
So long before the breaking of the dawn
with moonlight shadows sulking in the dusk.
No hint of sunrise breaching its new birth,
each day begins with minutes still as death.

And true this darkness mourns a solemn death.
Redemption needs a time of reckoning first.
As previous day has sailed off from its berth
to float with bygone memories at last,
its final hours shrink into the dusk
across from that horizon where it dawneth.

As new day clears the way for breaking dawn,
its mind drifts far from misery and death.
Its new toes learn to walk in morning dusk
preparing for its dance with small steps first.
And as the blue sky dims the stars at last,
day celebrates the moment of its birth.

And glorious is the sunshine of this birth.
A flood of warmth and hope breach on the dawn,
so those that seize this day will ever last
and thriving in this light they'll feel no death.
Though old, on this day kindled true life first,
its glow survives in them beyond the dusk.

But those that waste the light will fear this dusk
as every worthless day spent since their birth.
They put off until later what should come first
assuming other days will surely dawneth,
as if delaying life will stave off death.
But when death comes, its all they have at last.

Always assume this day could be your last.
Be mindful of the shadows creep to dusk.
And with your body shrinking to its death
your soul may celebrate a renewed birth,
and rise to break upon a higher dawn,
foreshadowed in the day where life grew first.

So death can be a gift as much as birth.
Its silence bridges gap tween dusk and dawn.
And all who rest at last are reborn first.

The End

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