On the floor is a carpet and I am
Staring at the shadow
Of the sunlight through
The pane of the window—
I can almost see the swirling
Fire on the Sun’s surface itself,
This heat that makes each day
Anew, blazing as it does—
Issuing in a proclamation to grow
Seed, breed, feed, to greed.
From my own shadowed view
Light is pushing to depths darkness
Can only try containing, traveling
From a source it would continue
On if not for the curtain in between.
How long will it last—this orb
Around which this life spins, spinning—
Unspun with infinite ideas in such tightly
Closed walls pulsing with questions
With answers that mean everything and
Nothing.

04/02/2015

Posted on 04/02/2015
Copyright © 2024 Rob Littler