in the absence of light we tear apart fruit like flesh and feast like starving anthropoids. we watch as rain falls on our faces and makes us clean, though we are dirty animals; primitive and angry. to wash our face in the water that laps the edge of a pond is a worry reserved for the night. listen for the cry of a bird in the AM to know when to rise and watch the sun creep back from behind the horizon. wonder why she left us for the night- in the wintry hands of her opposite.
where does the sun go? she is our only hope, our compass. and yet everyday she disappears and leaves behind her spotted silhouette of a brother. he is beautiful, but he lacks the warm embrace that we so crave. we find solace in each others arms instead and sit in silent compliance until she returns.
and when she does we chase her. arms outstretched to our mother, we divert the obstacles of the horizon to try and reach her. tripping over the debris of the land and wrestling with the vines that threaten to string us up and slow us down. we run for hours until we are sore and tired, and can only drag each-other along begrudgingly.
and yet no matter how far we walk, how swiftly we try to reach her, she always leaves just as she seems to be so close. just out of reach she will smile solemnly and ask us to try again tomorrow- for now she has to go. and she will leave her brother to watch over us.
YOU ARE READING
𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞
Poetry© 8ront3 xxmviii compilation of writing over the years; poetry, short stories, recollections of experiences.
