The first organizing principle of the world
As every morning proves
Is the warmth of the sun
Out of its willingness to return
To the darkness it leaves behind
Our only source of the future
A little flame that bursts
Out of the ashes of every human heart
At least that's how I picture it
Each a sun with its own horizon
Hurriedly rising dressing for work
In freezing cold and humid heat
That something anything get done
Hating or loving our little lives
But is this really what the sun
Has in mind for us today
That so much light produce
So little good and our suns
Not shine the way they could
No comments:
Post a Comment