Anyway, I feel like I should actually post something of substance. Sooo I'll post a poem I wrote a while (and by 'while,' I mean like months... it's actually kinda wicked old. From, like, last April or something) ago...
The Sun sees a lot during the day,
when he’s on top and gleaming
white fire, when he’s the one with power
(except for when the clouds try to cover him with their smoke.
Oh my God, he often thought,
he doesn’t consider himself particularly violent, but he’d kill them if he could.)
When everything is bright, he
sees people moving
It’s interesting, but so
And, really, he’s busy, too,
trying to keep the warm places warm and the cold places cold.
When he starts to fall,
he can lean back and
his little world as
vibrant pink and sherbet ribbons chase away the blue of the sky.
He can watch people be people,
running in the forests of the grass
making footprints in the sand like glaciers
watching him right back.