Eclipse at Noon
Sep 28
1 min read
He carried it.
It was death.
It was despair.
It was freedom.
It was pain.
It was life.
An eclipse at noon.
It killed.
It saved.
Evil hid behind it.
Goodness wept before it.
It marks our graves.
It marks our foreheads.
It is ours to bear.
We wear it around our necks.
We trace it over our hearts.
Our fingers borrow its shape—for luck.
Or a lie.
We hide it behind our backs
to escape a promise.
It is misunderstood.
It is blamed.
It is dismissed.
It carries a burden
beyond the man
who bore it.
It carries us.
by Vanessa Bland
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