Potted Sun.

by | Nov 23, 2008 | Poetry | 0 comments

Bright illume round in the sky,
Lifted high wit a rockets scream,
We watch you fly,
Showing the darkness what you mean.

As your chute opens to the breeze,
Like a hand easing you gently down,
In your light everything sees,
With the colour of dark grey and soft brown.

“Maetha al shams” called by our translator,
Sputters to life and shining bright,
Catching the prime illuminator,
Banishing the dark with your inquisitive light.

Gravity always wins your fight,
Only sixty seconds you last,
As your life dies with your light,
The darkness claims you fast.


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