As I stood, just simply waiting, light around me slowly fading,
Still I blamed the gentle shading on the setting sun
Did I notice I felt fainter, that the color drained from paint, or
That the houses were much quainter than the quaintest one?
It must just be the setting sun.
But the sun could not excuse true Death’s sleek face, so unobtrusive
I could not tell it’s abuse could hurt just anyone.
Yet the cold glee on his face was obviously out of place
It’d send a tendril of a lace of chills down anyone.
Wait- where was everyone?
Now, it seemed, I delved in fear; the brutal end could not be near
And yet the fear that Death was here had stopped the shining sun
Realization enveloped me, dawned on me as despair choked me
And in darkness did Death show me the warmth of the sun?
No, Death was an evil one.
“Stop!” I shrieked, but far too late- I saw Death open up the gate
He said, “Heaven will now await your presence little one.”
And so to happiness I turned, for Death was not so cruel I learned
But then I touched the gates and burned- they burned me like the sun.
“I’ll leave her here as the sun sets, the rays will fall near her and yet
Never touch. She won’t forget the kindness of the sun.”
And Death reigned true for to the day I bask in sadness anyway,
For if the sun still shines today on me I’ll burn and run.
From sadness of the setting sun.
