No Sunshine

There ain't no sunshine where I'm from,
The land is lit by torches.
People stare from their chairs,
Sitting on their porches.

Without a sun there is no chance
To seed or harvest any plant,
And though there were some greeneries,
There were always mouths to feed.

The sun, once rapt, then turned black
And briefly hung there, daunting,
Then disappeared without a sound,
Its afterimage, haunting.

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An old poem of mine, but one of the only ones I thought was worth keeping. Pretty short, probably inspired by some Emily Dickenson.