Where the Sun Sleeps

Where the Sun Sleeps

There is a place where the sun sleeps.

Behind a field of wild heather and rain.

I go there when the world feels too loud,

and silence folds itself around me.

The grass hums soft songs to the wind.

The air smells of endings and peace.

A fox crosses my path like a whisper,

its eyes the colour of old firelight.

I lie down beneath the last warmth of day,

and think of all I once wanted to be.

The sky turns gold, then blue, then gone,

and I am small again, and safe again.

When the stars open their quiet eyes,

I almost believe the world forgives.

I almost believe I do too.