Night Fell

Is it a cliche
to say he was the colour
of night?
And all but the blue
of his eyes
would pass by unseen
when the sun had gone
and only his brothers and sisters
lit the skies.
In the hours when day became night
awake from rest,
but not yet left,
he would stretch.
In him the aeons of
a race unchanged.
Today he did not return,
he did not come home,
if home it was.
I have mourned
And know some adventure
has engulfed him.
If not here
then an adventure still.

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