This Sun, How It Doth Bleed

24 Oct

And lo, this sun, how it doth bleed,
breath within me burns for its life;
how implosive this sun doth reside,
yet ’twas no more than a vast light
in ages past, ‘ere I was but a child.

O’ how brilliant its veneration be,
star of fire, so much older than I;
as in its place upon my shoulders,
and I, alone in its warm embrace,
tho’ too, oft wounded by its touch.

But, whether comforted or blinded,
am I made complete among stars;
as sun and I have played our parts,
the sun, in caress, and I, in words,
which of us has been more the fire.

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Posted by on October 24, 2016 in My Poetry



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