Sun Too Needs a Savior
Where does the
selfless sun hide
when heavens
r a i n bloodstones?
Burned and inscribed,
from monsoon monsters,
gnawing at our bones,
the shimmering
darkness imbibed,
If only drifting
shades
of gray,
where the tempests
of hell sway,
would hear the hymns
I sleep to
when the clouds steal on cue
the soul of illuminating skies.
I listen to the echoing symphony
of s i l e n t sighs,
convincing soothingly,
pulling me back to soar
new h i g h s
amongst electric choirs,
as angels swiftly swing,
on saffron strings,
to the bass of cellos rising,
above tuscan tambourines.
Yet, I keep drowning
in needless tears,
from pearlized
ponds of fears,
seeing life as how it
has always been forged,
a disappointment
fed through
filthy forks,
who’ve gorged
on the first
of every scintillating
ray of light.
But, what if the sun, too,
needs a savior?
Like an eternal
gem that beams
upon dreary dawns set upon her
draining every
heavy lampshade
of s t a r s
within spheres of novae,
lest the opulence give
way to bruise and decay.
Perhaps, grim gales
gusting in
wrathful bursts
shall finally be the
serenity I need
for I’ve tilled every field
of hurts like raspberry
from the scent
of rose water,
For sometimes,
that’s all it takes,
heeding to freeze through
malevolent thorns in icy lakes.
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