Rising Sun
She feels the sun's heat despite sitting in shadows
Feeling heart beats as loud as drums - and the drums weren't just beats.
They were clocks ticking down to zero, waiting to explode -
Tears as implosions and the cracks of television screens.
That was the moon,
And I am the sun.
//
The world had never knew this until the day she was born. She had eyes like the sun that could heal a mourning soul. We looked at golden and could have sworn that at night, she couldn't have been the moon.
Where eyes like hers were the moans of quiet suffering, and at dark, when the moon took the sun's spot, a tune no sane person had easily bought.
You could say that the sun and the moon were night and day, and that was exactly what they were. Two personalities fasten together despite not wanting to. Daily actions of pricks and prods, trying her best not to look at the open wound. Mounds of fears and questionings of "did they put enough anesthetic?" As if a gallon of bleach wasn't enough, heart beats like drums - constant ticks and tocks of a fate that would one day come.
This was the sun, right before dusk.
//
When the moon met the stars, and when the sun met the clouds - reality itself just seemed too far. Rusty arms went out to reach the stars, and golden hands shrouding clouds when she meant no harm. Help was out there, but that was something that the permanent anesthetic just couldn't bare. To her, all of this - was just too fair.
Too many clouds mean rain, anyways.
//
There was a night, when a star had met the moon. Creating swoons of happiness that created dark to light.
When the moon morphed into the sun, and when the star became a blanket for her golden rays.
Just so a prevention from harmful crowds would wash away, he hid her under his blanket of allocation of clouds. Patting snow-white on scars marked with words. A cloth on her forehead in case she became warm.
This was the kind of treatment the sun or the moon could get used to. Slowly, stars brightened away, and crowds of clouds washed abroad
Just so you could see their baby or midnight blue.
Copyright © Victoria Rosales | Year Posted 2016
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