The worlds become alien.
In the summer heat,
My mind was fast and
observed the colors like oceans,
colliding on shimmering heat.
Now the beams of winter,
lick at my skin and
draw soft pastel from
chilled earth.
Now in polar opposites,
my mind breathes,
in monotone colors
and silly routine.
To dodge the summer
How ludicrous.
Though the sun,
In full exhibition
still swims through
infinite blue.
Somehow he doesn't
Speak to me.
Somehow he is alien.
On this sweeping desert,
I am no longer the animal
who sat under him,
while he bled wisdom
into an African sky.
No longer can I
converse with my sun
I have become
Mechanical
and now,
He has left me
To the Moon.