The Son Also Rises

When the night whispers away,
Calling my name across the border,
Between my world and hers,
The first fingers of  the lack of darkness stretch,
Their warm palm out to hold mine,
That is when the son also rises;
He awakes from beside me,
Watching my every movement,
Just to get it right when the time comes.
When the right time comes,
He’ll be there,
In proud and full array,
In my old uniform, you might say,
Willing to put his life on the line,
Or rather, mine.
He is me, insofar as it matters,
But I am not him, for when it counts,
And I’m just here,
To lend a helping hand,
Or at least a back,
For him to step up on.
He can’t stay on top of the world forever, though,
And like all great dynasties,
Comes to a halting conclusion,
Sudden and jarring,
In a sort of suicide by extension,
Reaching out across time to hold it in place,
With the path of most resistance.
But when his head falls,
When his crown clinks towards silence,
I am free in the folds of night,
And the Sun also rises.

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