the sun which labored in the east
as it peeks over mountains too tall to climb,
falls on your body, naked & fragile,
warms your chilly, cold heart—
trying to put it back to life—
the way I kiss your cheek and
caress it to give & show you a love
you’ve always ached for, but never felt.
it is this sun—whose rays
sprinkle a golden hue on your
sleeping, completely nonchalant face—
this sun, which witnessed a farewell
too heavy to be spoken, too long to be written,
but never too cold to be brought upon
the sleeping figure of a fragile boy,
so innocent-looking that further looking
into his life could shake a softened heart.
it was this leaving that left
what seemed like a small void
in his life—a wound too deep,
a note wrongly played on the piano;
this leaving, which looked insignificant,
left tremors on his once steady body,
tremors brought upon by tears that threaten to
always fall down his cheeks I once had kissed.
in the distance, the promise of a bright day vanished,
as the sky made way for the gloom of clouds too heavy to be carried,
clouds so dark it completely eclipsed the sun;
and for a moment the boy could not carry them anymore.
they fell, like raindrops on the roof of his home,
his emotions bellowing like a thunderstorm in his head—
then everything fell apart, as the body of a fragile
boy ached for the warmth of a touch,
either from the rays of the morning sun,
or from the simple touch of a lover asleep on his bed,
but the light has been gone for some time now,
(and so are the lovers who used to sleep beside him)
that light from the sun who used to labor in the east,
for it had grown too scared of the mountains it could not climb.
Art by Unknown (from livreclem.tumblr.com)
Words by Spencer Martin Keats