Old Sun


We find burning rivers at twilight,
The water sizzling with the sun’s dying rays.
We follow them down, no flashlight when it gets dark
To become forever lost in the dense, weeping trees.
They harangue our limbs, our heads,
Watch as we twist this way and that.
Back and forth we turn through blackened branches
That reach out like angry phantoms
While we cry and pray for the return of dawn,
For the old sun that will never rise again.

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You can't have yesterday back when tomorrow comes.