Sun Bathe
From beaming yellow,
To violent red,
Skin peels like the pages of a book of some unloved fate,
Groaning under the flow of the mistimed shower,
Both optimistic and naive,
Grass blades pierce like shards of shimmering glass,
As i lay.
The humm of a hidden chorus in the green soothes my wounds,
Performers flee,
Twisting and darting away from nothing it seems,
Only to find the red over and over,
Feet like a drum-line..
A wry little smile cracks in the irony,
For here i shall stay.
Copyright © Rohan Moran | Year Posted 2016
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