When you sit highest in the Summer sky,
and all that can be zenithed shimmers there;
I think of all your powers which underlie
this fallen corner of creation’s lair.
For now I know you’re not what most assume.
You symbolise divine made manifest.
You pierce the darkness — nullify the gloom;
and by your cosmic rays my soul is blessed.
But yet one day, you will become the judge;
magnetic pulses you will send to earth.
With cataclysmic forces you will nudge
the fingers of the doomsday clock’s rebirth.
You are the portal through which life was made.
Then it became polluted, dark, decayed.
© Alan Morrison, 2018