deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Calling Sun
These walls are blinding,
Holding no reflection,
Revealing no tone, shade, or hue.
Swallowing all life and personality within.
These walls are weighted with sadness and neglect.
Wonders and horrors of the world barred off.
Alone she sits, needle at bedside.
Along with the spark in her eyes this four-cornered room has long since gone dark.
Her sun once brightened her world,
Illuminating the four-cornered abyss.
But alas, the night always comes for the day's bright sky.
Alone he sits, at her bedside,
He's lost her again hasn't he?
A little boy calls for his mother to come home.
Holding no reflection,
Revealing no tone, shade, or hue.
Swallowing all life and personality within.
These walls are weighted with sadness and neglect.
Wonders and horrors of the world barred off.
Alone she sits, needle at bedside.
Along with the spark in her eyes this four-cornered room has long since gone dark.
Her sun once brightened her world,
Illuminating the four-cornered abyss.
But alas, the night always comes for the day's bright sky.
Alone he sits, at her bedside,
He's lost her again hasn't he?
A little boy calls for his mother to come home.
Published 4th Dec 2012
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