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My Sun is Late

He is passion, etched desire,

Unacquainted with a sun or moon

Familiar with the pale fire

That is often gone too soon

A day without my love in arms

Is waiting for the sun’s expansion

That’s taking prospects of dissatisfaction

With a blistering compassion

Turning all to gentle seas.

Tumultuous shores now seized

By powers grand, above my own

The power that’s to all, unknown


Yet now I ask, my sun

Why are you late?

Have you only just begun

Or have you not the strength to permeate

Through time and space, and shun

This darkened pit of loneliness

This absence of His holiness

And release me from unconquered lands

That shackled both these sinful hands?

Am I to tread among my own

Take for a friend the unknown

Or must I make incensed offerings

To heaven’s unlawful kings?


I am a slave to my own mind, not a slave to you

A slave to my design, not the overarching blue

A slave I am and may remain until my love, anew

Lays me down on those dewy banks of Acheron

And again, departs too soon


The promise of betterment, a night owl’s talons drawing blood, The haze of tomorrow, milky eyes of a predator that slept too little The haunting in a house of cards, packing vermilion onto dewy cheeks

To perceive is to digest, and to digest is to warp beyond repair; Do not perceive that which you do not wish to be warped. i) Cessation of self prompts the veiling of mirrors, And a vampiric urge to l

It is that spectacular night sky that, shameless, spread before the eyes of the Lord, lures me to all the corners of the cosmos that I've yet to touch, bound by a sense of child-like innocence. It is

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