There's a certain sparkle illuminating the night,
Yet I should know it's a disguise.
Your kind has always lied through eyes
And pushed to the edge mankind.
Why would you even try
To seduce my inner pride?
It's enough to know nature presides
Over the momentum of life.
But again, why, when these lies
Are not but for the love of light?
Why, then, rejoice in captured might,
When you ultimately inject spite?
I suppose it's a struggle to survive.
Move on, Artificial Light.
Illuminate someone else's sky.
The night may not be bright,
But it's authentic in sight.
Edwin Cordero's Other Poems
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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