The Sinister Side of Sunlight
And Hope
There are a million poems.
About the sun.
About the way it paints the sky.
Morning.
Evening.
Illuminating,
Everything.
There are poems about,
The way it brightens colors,
And shifts perspectives.
Warms.
Strengthens.
Grows,
Everything.
There are even poems about,
How it falls through window shades,
Tracing patterns on your skin.
Yes.
You.
In particular, and
Everything.
But I have never seen a poem,
About the sun's passive wrath.
How it changes into malice.
Turning,
Red,
And angry at,
Everything.
Is it just that there is no poetry,
In blisters and pain?
I can't believe that is true.
Bukowski.
Poe.
Browning.
Everything.
Perhaps it is instead,
That we don't like to remember,
That what we draw hope from also kills us.
The sun.
Poetry.
Love.
Everything.
About the Creator
Paige Graffunder
Paige is a published author and a project professional in the Seattle area. They are focused on interpersonal interactions, poetry, and social commentary.
Find me on Medium.com
Find my books on Amazon.com and at Barnes and Noble.
Keep reading
More stories from Paige Graffunder and writers in Poets and other communities.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.