And so the Sun rose – cloaked by Silence.
The sweet tones of morning sated my
Curiosity for death, and I understood
The Reproach of Robins,
Singers of repentance
Given to forgive.
I begged of them atonement.
And so the Sun climbed, colored by Silence.
The doldrum notes of mid-day inspired my
Quiet sinning, loud to the crocuses’ pure –
But naive innocence.
I tear up their naivete
To decorate my weeping walls.
They whisper wise innocence now,
Until they die.
And so the Sun hung for its crimes
In the 3 o’clock horizon, and I hung
He asked me to bury him like a king
But I have only two dimes in my pocket,
And those are being saved for the jester’s funeral
I promised the moon.
And so the Sun set and I set,
Both laid to rest
in tilled earth.
And when the moon was buried next to me,
And the Sun rose, and the sweet tones of morning
Sated my sorrowing seeds.