Afraid of the night

[robdaley]

Hi Busker,

Afraid of the night

Edit 2.0

Childhood is afraid
of the night, the thin hands
of malevolent ghosts. 
>I like this first stanza and I agree that 'Youth is unafraid' should be moved to its own line or even starting a second stanza. Children don't like the dark which is why they leave lights on at night, the door open.
Youth is unafraid
of the night, with its host
of stars like sheep, in the land 
of a pale goddess the moon.
>I'me reading it that the moon is the shepherd and the stars are sheep. I'm wondering how this relates to youth, is it saying that young people follow eachother? That probably rings true.
Mid life is afraid 
not of night, but the soon
coming dawn
>Mid life is afraid of the dawn, because it reminds them of past dreams, that works. If you are saying Mid life is afraid of each new day, I'm not sure I'm down with that, many people I know embrace every day in mid-life because they know old age is slowly creeping up on them. 
, 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.
>I like this, especially 'no end' although it depends on your beliefs as to whether you think there will be no light. 

Thanks for the read. An interesting poem

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.