Rising Above The Sun

The morning rips the sunrise to bloody pieces

like a shark devouring a seal

and still the sun continues her ascent above the heavens

while the water gets wet with blood

deep red tie dyes fade to white sheets of waves

above the city of Atlantis

waiting to be rediscovered

by light salted with infrared

letting the morning see through the night

still, the sun is rising

till like Icarus

it shall fall

splattering the sky with its unstaunched remains

red and dead and

the sunset becomes the rose that gives fragrance to the hand that crushed it.

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8 thoughts on “Rising Above The Sun

  1. yourothermotherhere

    The sun rises and sets on the passive face of the lone figure standing at the tower window. He doesn’t see as his vision has turned within, to the love that lives there. The moon rises with her cloak of coldness and his trance is broken. He looks down at the pain in his hand to see the rose crushed, the thorns cruelly biting into his flesh. Turning from the window, he never realizes that he too, is a rose…

    Reply
    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Wow! Wonderful! Is that inspired from this poem, or, are these words that you have written before. Either way, I am inspired that this poem could inspire such reaction. Wow.

      Reply
      1. yourothermotherhere

        It’s going with my theme for you. I see you as this tragic figure being held high up in tower, longing for romance, for love, where the only way to vent about it is with writing and sometimes, with comedy. When you are done with your pages, you toss them out the window to let fate carry them into the hands of those who need to read the words you write.

        Right now in winter, you sit in a huge chair, covered in a myriad of furs in front of a crackling fire, brooding about your life, and life in general. Oops, no wait, I’m thinking of Conan the Barbarian! Close though…

        Anyway, yes, your poetry does inspire me.

      2. cottonbombs Post author

        I am flattered that you confuse me with Conan the Barbarian. Sometimes I feel like him, except with all the muscles. If these poems have any muscle to inspire you, then I feel all this brooding isn’t going entirely to waste. And they are not furs covering the chair, they are 100% synthetic fibers.

    1. cottonbombs Post author

      Thank you from this `Apocalyptic Romantic`. I guess that describes my desire to kiss and write poetry about it all right up to the day of the Final Judgement. Being judged as the creator of a new poemin` genre hopefully will win me air miles.

      Reply

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