This poem was written on a cold winter morning in the North.
winter sun
written february 5th, 1995
laying stretched in bed
after sleeping all night
all night in my head
with the walls up
i open my eyes
to the winter sun
winter sun burning bright
bright and white and pure
winter sun is such a contrast
sparkling off the cold snow
cutting through the crisp air
brightness the only thing left of its heat
i feel the walls go back down in my head
i shut my eyes to the blinding brightness
and let the sun make its way unaided
into my self
can it make its way around the walls?
find its way through the maze?
discover all the secret places?
winter sun doesn't have vision or reason
it isn't confused by the barriers i put up
by the false walls that i have built
or the inaccurate signage
for a few minutes
on this cold winter morning
in spite of my defenses
the winter sun illuminates all of me
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 6:17 AM UTC
This poem was written on a cold winter morning in the North.
winter sun
written february 5th, 1995
laying stretched in bed
after sleeping all night
all night in my head
with the walls up
i open my eyes
to the winter sun
winter sun burning bright
bright and white and pure
winter sun is such a contrast
sparkling off the cold snow
cutting through the crisp air
brightness the only thing left of its heat
i feel the walls go back down in my head
i shut my eyes to the blinding brightness
and let the sun make its way unaided
into my self
can it make its way around the walls?
find its way through the maze?
discover all the secret places?
winter sun doesn't have vision or reason
it isn't confused by the barriers i put up
by the false walls that i have built
or the inaccurate signage
for a few minutes
on this cold winter morning
in spite of my defenses
the winter sun illuminates all of me