One eye open, groggy with sleep, she peers over the horizon,
Wondering if today is worth the effort,
Yet she opens her other eye, and stretches on her bed,
Letting the world wonder how someone so strong, can look so beautiful.
When she finds the energy to stand, she does,
Reaching up and letting all signs of night slide off her back.
She glides up the sky, assuming her position of power,
Asserting her dominance, threatening those beneath her,
Yet they need her.
She scorches those who try to outstay their welcome,
But she gently caresses the work of those who know her,
Those who harness her power in order to survive.
She is leader, instructing times of rising and times of sleeping amongst her people,
Only allowing rest when she herself recedes from the sky.
They used to worship her, years ago,
But now they barely glance at her, they forget what she means.
Their time alive is measured by her, their days, seasons, years.
She is the centre of their universe, yet her people are so consumed by themselves,
They don't appreciate her, yet she still soars high.
YOU ARE READING
My Juliet, the sun
PoesíaWith two interpretations, this poem indirectly compares someone watching the sun with a man deeply in love with his wife until she is old and unappreciated.
