The Night Poem by Robert Sheridan

Slayer of the day's turning
Darkness as to distrust
Soul mate with the shadows
Summoned to an endless journey;
In search of a tourney
Armed with its ghostly mail
Chained with un-chivalric spirit
Not a rider but a woeful stalker pained;
Blackened armor, gripped long spear
With broadsword as to decimate
Brightened days - dauntless task
Death to fading light - altar piece;
Ancient night artistically ordained
Paints the landscape - imaginary lines
Views of meadows and flowers disarrayed
Its work appears like an aged sage’s face;
Through the heaven’s womb
The night smothers the day
It whispers boastful fears
Eyes to wonder, tongues not to praise.