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In the near-night morning

When the sun

Battling timidity

Avoided approaching the skies.

When birds laid slain with sleep

When the day

Had of late, been begotten

And laid suckling in the rocking ***** of time.

Upon an insomnia-provoked thought I pondered.

Wondering what the age of the sun might be.

Delved into some critical reasoning here.

Danced to the beats of deep philosophizing there.

Borrowing Plato's cloak....

The sun

Impregnated with heat

She sprays the earth with good shining.

Negotiating with darkness

She innovates light.

She constantly radiates a golden smile.


Alas! Alas!

My thoughts procreated futility.

We may never know the age of the sun.
How old is the sun?
Merlie T Apr 2020
Fire dream from the sky
Clouds of White
will not pour
Gulfs of sea carve-
shrubs, sediment
Leap out of view
Make Space
Share Life
Cné Jul 2018
Who would think a rose so sweet
Would dry and crumble at the feet
And blooms that scent the night and day
Would steal a heart, then fade away

With petals soft and fondly red
Sweet essence fills an addled head
Then turns to dust before the eyes
Leaving naught, but sad surprise

Who would think such thorny vine
Could lift a blossom as divine
And by the stem on which it stands
Could so wrong an offered hand

Such strength and beauty is rarely true
A blessing owned by very few
As 'neath the soil, in winters keep
There sleeps a rose to tear a cheek

Who would think that perfect bloom
Could be a bane, a curse of doom
So fine a sight, yet in disguise
A rose to ***** and blind the eyes

— The End —