I often think of Helios, god of the sun—
what does he feel when he sees us set an alarm 
instead of having the sun’s light
shine upon our faces? When we sleep
for half the day, does he recall those who woke
when the sun rose, does he cringe when we let a hand 
replace the warm morning rays against our skin?

I wonder if the goddess of the moon
comes alive the more we welcome night—does she 
thrive when the busy streets are alight? Yet,
such a thing demands a troubling price:
bright lights start the stars fading from the night sky,
her moon trapped on the outside. Does Selene 
long for the lit up cities down below?

And I wonder how they felt when they were cast out 
by people who thought they no longer served 
their true purpose, people who gave their altars 
to Artemis and Apollo, who had so many already. 
Did it break their hearts when they faded to darkness?
Have we always cast aside the odd ones out, 
just because they glow so bright they might blind us?

Image by Chado Nihi