Afraid of the night

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Afraid of the night

Edit 2.0

Childhood is afraid
of the night, the thin hands
of malevolent ghosts. Youth is unafraid
of the night, with its host
of stars like sheep, in the land 
of a pale goddess the moon.

Mid life is afraid 
not of night, but the soon
coming dawn, upending 
respite and dreams of the past
where it hides from the future, no not a friend.

Old age is afraid 
of the night once again, 
of the one 
with no light,
with no end.

The continued anthropomorphic abstractions are tedious and overly predictable to the point when the end finally comes it reveals nothing but does so as if revealing some wisdom with held-breath awe when it’s really just an extended cliche

Feels like insta-poetry

Edit 1.0

Childhood is afraid
of the night, the thin hands
of malevolent ghosts. Youth is unafraid
of the night, with its host
of stars like sheep , Cynthia, in the land 
and her wand 
of the effulgent moon.
Mid life is afraid 
not of night, but the soon
coming dawn, upending 
respite, its dreams of the past 
where it hides from the future, not a friend.
Old age is afraid of the night
once again, of the one 
with no light,
with no end.

Original

Childhood is afraid
of the night, the thin hands
of malevolent ghosts. Youth is unafraid
of the night, with its host 
of silver sheep in the land
of the moon.
Mid life is afraid 
not of night, but the soon
coming dawn, upending 
respite, its dreams of the past 
where it hides from the future, not a friend.
Old age is afraid of the night
once again, of the one 
with no light,
with no end.

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