The Sun

What is a world without its Sun?

Without.

Warmth to lead seasons into a dance?

Without.

Gravity to pull the tides into longing?

Without.

Light to rend the dark?

“I do not deserve The Sun.”

A small and beautiful voice protests.

Enchained by rust.

Still lingering,

not laid to rest.

Darkened by shadows.

Hidden from The Sun,

Its boundless wealth.

But The Sun cannot judge;

The invaluable has no value.

It has seen a need:

The cold and shattered core.

Set anew with a ravishing dawn,

It promises protection,

evermore.

Sunlight settles on the breast of the world,

and the voice calmly puts The Soul to amity.

“Stay.”

The Sun’s effulgence,

no matter how radiant,

Is nothing but energy

If nothing-

can bear witness.

For The Sun is too

dependent on the ray.

It needs The Soul to

reflect its day. 

A perfect circle,

so very warm,

so very bright.

The Soul gives meaning

to the graceful light.