Derivative Poem by Smoky Hoss

Pink clouds sit up
just prior to a gray morning.
The dark comes and goes, on and on,
without warning -
A sometimes black, sometimes white
picket fence
goes around and around the universe
like a dream, that makes no sense -
Bright living stars
and dying black holes,
the light, the dark; what do we here see most? And
who, truly knows -
Out on the back porch
late into night,
thinking of how the sun alone
is not the only light -
The dark was,
before light became created.
Is it possible then, that the dark
somehow keeps the light sated -
God is light,
I do believe.
But, here alone at night, I ponder
the dark in which I grieve -