My beautiful heavens, who has wounded you so?

Gone are the azure pools with cloud-frosted
borders and depth beyond the darkest sea,
sundered now by tongues of amethyst flame.
From whence do these stolid shadows surface,
casting the world in a dappled amber
so unlike the crisp clarity I knew...

Gone is your vibrant twilight emotion,
the master strokes of Isune and Trill leached
from your body like blood from mortal kin.
How I miss the warmth of a coal-cinder sun
kissing the horizon in purple robes,
traded away for sickly unripe haze.

Where once your clouds were downy gossamer
white as virgin snow in the midday sun,
I find in their place roiling tendrils,
clawed scars from whatever beast rent you so.
Oh, but that I could return them to you,
to dream of soaring 'gainst their luscious plumes.

Why do you chase the Sun and Moon away?
Do you fear that they, like I, will see how
these iceborne wounds fester beneath your skin,
and thus cast them behind a muted veil?
Mother Moon's light, once radient silver,
now barely has strength to reach the forest floor.

My beautiful heavens, please return soon,
for without your tender caress of light
or even the refreshment of your tears
the land withers, scattered by softest breeze.
Surely when now is only remembered,
this will be the Era of Wounded Sky.