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.