Sonnet XII – the dying of the light

These days of grasping in the light are new
accustomed to the dark I’ve always been
The day erases not all failings, true
in sunbeams find I grab and miss again
It seems this night/day, dark/light model lacks
and oversimplifies how life should “work”
What should reveal rare beauty highlights cracks
while each day’s brightest acts are done in murk
Do not assume the good guy’s hat is white
or monsters cloaked in black are always vile
When needed most, the heroes will take flight
while gruesome ghouls will carry you a mile

Perhaps it’s in the dimming gloam we’re best
we see but can’t quite seem to find our rest