Scáth

by Patrick Hayes

What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.
--Chief Crowfoot of the Canadian Blackfeet

The heat of day recedes, the clouds grow grey,
Red Sun to travel soon again beneath
The world, and fight its way to Dawn once more
Against the demons with their hateful breath,

But we above will watch the growing dark,
Retreat into our homes to light our fire,
Our lamp against the shadows on the wall,
The lurking ghosts repelled by lute and lyre.

Since ever Man arose from out his plains
And drew the flame and stone to his command,
We fight the night, we war against its birth,
We shield the cave with works of fearful hand,

To keep at bay the haunting cry of prey,
The silent menace of the hunting beast.
We huddle in our corners, and we hope
Our candles stay alight so we could rest.

But I have always felt a kinship there,
Beyond the safety of warm lighted sleep;
I feel alive at Midnight, and at Dawn
I often mourn the daybreak, and I weep.

I'm neither light nor dark, but something else
That shuffles softly here between the hours
When daytime falls and moonlight comes to reign,
Who seeks the even hidden with its powers:

For sadness has a beauty of its own
And sorrow beats the depths with lovely strains,
While here above our joy comes loud and brash.
I listen for the quiet dark again.

And twilight holds a magic in its mien,
That all our garish daylight cannot pierce,
For when the stars come out my eyes draw up,
To gather in the dimness, soft yet fierce,

Like ages past when lonely men strode out
And gazed into the endless stark abyss;
I feel then life is sweet, moreso than now
As noontide brings its wrathful, burning kiss,

And I must hide, for fear of being marked
As one not of the Day, but Night's own slave,
Or Master--I know not, but I know this:
That I was born of Morning, yet I crave

The end of day and twilight's risen gloom,
To feel the sunless winds upon my face,
And walk the sleeping world in lazy peace,
For in the dark I know I've found my place.

The Author

Patrick Hayes is from Wichita, Kansas, where he has lived all his life, and is currently at Wichita State University studying computer science and geology after a long hiatus from school. He works part time as a webmaster and Braille transcription student at the Kansas Braille Transcription Institute. His hobbies include reading (especially fantasy, science, and ancient history), writing, webdesign, and chatting online for extended periods.