I am the man who has never held the sun. I have heard its call and been drawn to its feet. Yet to grasp it is to die the death of life. I fear the death and crave the life.

I am a man at war. A war waged with myself as my enemy. I will lose and win or win and lose all under the heat and stress of the sun.

I can run from its sight, but the memory is burned into my mind. I would hope it would fade, but I have done this before... It fades with noise, but the silence brings it ever back. Warm and scorching; burning and living. Crying for me to embrace it, I would hear its echos in my caverns underground. I would stumble in darkness to lose myself, but still see a break of light. And the thirst would return.

I have used lesser stars. I have loved the moon. I have declared the darkness satisfactory. And yet the sun calls me a liar in its complete silence.

I am the fool who has never held the sun.

1 comment:

Skip said...

I hear the sun is pretty hot. Best not to touch it.