Betrayal of The Sun
There was a time
when you stood at the center of my sky,
and I, small, humble,
gazed upward in awe,
letting your brilliance shape my world.
Every word you spoke carved meaning into silence,
every gesture gave weight to the air.
I was nothing
but a shadow you cast,
grateful for the light.
But I see now
what I could not see then—
the sun blinds as easily as it warms.
Your power filled the spaces between us
until there was no room left for truth.
You were everything,
and so I became nothing,
a reflection of your glory,
a mirror for your pride.
I thought loyalty
was the strongest bond,
but loyalty bends under the weight of lies.
When the light scorches the earth,
when it burns what it swore to nourish,
what choice is left but to seek shade?
To turn my back,
to let the shadow stretch long and cold,
to kill the thing I once called divine.
Do you know the ache
of watching your own hands betray you?
The slow rebellion of the heart
against itself?
It is not hate that drives the knife—
it is love,
love that has seen too much,
felt too much,
and can no longer endure
the hollow echo of devotion.
The weight of the dagger in your flesh
is shaped by the need to save myself.
The slice in your side,
does not match the gash in my throat,
the silence you carved in me
time and time again.
You were the sun.
I was the shadow.
I wonder if I was always meant
to fade in your glow,
to burn out
before I ever had the chance
to rise.
Copyright ©
olivette nomoore
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