Treasure Island

Jack Worthington

(1977 / Yuma, Arizona, U.S.A.)

Rebellion Against the Sun

The setting sun is cooled from his noontime glare
Now a bright orange disk in the smoggy sky
Slowly easing to the ground in despair
No longer the all seeing noontime eye.

Unapproachable on his daytime arc
Mighty, chasing shadows under rocks
Nowhere to hide, extinguishing the dark
Watching ships sail from their docks.

Unaware his reign would soon pass
Burning precious fuel all to fast
The night's rebellion began to mass
The emperor was pulled down at last.

Now ebbing ever closer to his watery grave
Sulking, cursing the night, in a rage
The sun is bold, but the night has stealth
Cloaked in the sun's good fortune and wealth.

The night cloakes himself in the emperors clothes
Darkening the sky in his westward march
An unstoppable rebel force he arose
His armies of shadows emerging in the arc.

The sun, in his hubris, didn't see the plotting
Thinking the night was in his prison rotting
But the night knew his vanity all too well
He slipped away, leaving a cold empty cell.

I reached out for the suns majestic golden light
Thinking there was still time for redemption
Like an old man, soon running out his pension
Pulling back my hand in flight I found only night.

I once had light, my inheritance is squandered
Reaching the coast, looking for my lost king
Weary and tired, tripping over rocks I wandered
Finally resigned, in my misfortune, I sold my ring.

The world belongs to darkness now, reigning on his throne
Happily he dances in the sun's adorned room
Turning brother against brother, nations of drones
Preparing an ocean of blood for mankind's tomb.

If only we bathed in the sun's rays in time
Cleansing away our fallen human nature
But it was not to be, there was no sign
Looking for shelter, I fell asleep by the ocean.

Submitted: Thursday, August 07, 2014
Edited: Sunday, September 21, 2014

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Topic(s): war

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