When I first read the book, I dismissed it's author as a madman, but slowly the thoughts contained therein started to grow inside my mind and gain control. At first, it was just a mild disgust at sunlight on my skin, that with time became unbearably strong. Now the sun for me is like a repulsive insect crawling across the canopy of the sky; it's light a poison, regurgitated by photosynthesis, giving birth to the sickness of life.
I hide inside by day, covering my windows, only venturing outside on moonless nights, not able to bear the reflected light of the moon (and only with agony can I withstand the distant light of the stars). I pity the moon for being forced to reflect the light of the sun, stripping her bare of the beautiful darkness.
Now, I eat mostly to escape the pain of hunger, the ultimate symptom of the life disease. The only hope in my continued existence, is for the eclipse. Not an ordinary eclipse, for even a "total" eclipse permits the odious light from the corona to reach the Earth and only lasts for a few minutes at most, but the final eclipse.
It is written in the book, and the stars will be right to bring it about within my lifetime. The author was not so lucky, and had taken his life after finishing the book. From it I have learned the spells that will have to be performed.
Soon the moon will move closer to the Earth and slowly swallow the horrible light and the disgusting warmth of the sun forever, extinguishing the vile disease of life. We will look up and see neither sun or stars, but only a beautiful dark, cold moon... Luna...Luna
Author's noteThis poem started with the central image of the Sun as an "insect crawling across the canopy of the sky" and grew from there quite naturally. As I tried to explain why someone would think that, I went from hatred of the Sun to hatred of light to hatred of life, and love of the antithesis of both the sun and life, the barren Moon.
Another inspiration was my own sensitivity to sunlight as a child. I actually covered up my bedroom window with a black blanket, because I couldn't stand the light of the early afternoon. (the window faces south). But of course this poem is pure fiction and I don't really believe any of things it main character believes. I am on much better terms with sunlight nowadays, although a lot of that sensitivity remains.
Finally, I would like to dedicate this poem to H. P. Lovecraft, for invaluable inspiration.