Colorless Sunrise

The sun managed to rise this morning
But without glory, struggling.
Like a hung-over drunk
He lit things up here and there
A gesture without conviction.
He is true to form this Spring Sun,
Weak, absent, late for work when he shows up…
In short he doesn’t fail to disappoint.

He makes me yearn for the Winter sun
Who painted the sky in bold, vivid strokes
Who defied the cold, the wee hours
And splashed gold and copper
On my parasol pines.

wintersunrise

About emmylgant

Cloud watcher and dreamer sometimes wise, often foolish, but I am what I am.
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21 Responses to Colorless Sunrise

  1. I don’t know if the world paints your words, or if you paint the world.

    Like

  2. makagutu says:

    Haha, if the sun could read, you’d be in trouble.
    Brilliant poetry my friend

    Like

  3. john zande says:

    Like a hung-over drunk
    He lit things up here and there
    A gesture without conviction.
    He is true to form this Spring Sun,
    Weak, absent, late for work when he shows up…

    Truly brilliant! T.S Eliot would bow to you.

    Like

  4. Une petite histoire d’un homme decevant, je crois!
    Encore brillant, cherie.

    Like

  5. That last part was just intensely beautiful!!!

    Like

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