A fog greeted me
and my outward, open palms
better than Sun
and her radiance
ever could.
When the eye's ceiling
turned space to sky,
the fog's fangs
dripping with blood
pooled my hands
and vanished away.
Noon approached me
as I fought myself
trying to wash this blood,
but she and Sun greeted me
with her bloody friend.
With red stained hands
I journeyed again
with that fog,
wary of the judgmental Sun
looming over both of us.
The fog rested it's case
in Sun's courtroom
as the eye's ceiling
turned sky to desert.
Sun set the case,
so I remained jailed
through Sunset and midnight.
I slept through that night
dreaming a foggy dream.
What it was,
I can't remember,
but what I felt,
if only I couldn't.
A new Sun rose
after Sun had drifted
away in disappointment.
He brought a cloud
to perch it over me
with no blood to stain.
It was a pleasant sight,
but I quickly looked away
blinded by Sun.
I learned the dangers
of Sun glasses,
but still could not face him
directly.
But it no longer mattered
how weak my eyes may be
resting upon its ceiling.
Suns don't shine less,
rather we block their radiance
so as to shine all but us.
This day, I am selfish.
The sun is mine
and so is that cloud
perching above
falling into my once
lifeless palms.
It is my turn to rise.
