You are the sky.
Although you are often blue,
You are always open.
You are a welcome sight to all who appreciate beauty
But most of us do not know of the pain you wordlessly endure to keep us content.
Though the sun will leave you each day,
You handle it with ease and grace.
It is a routine you welcome, because you know it will please us.
And we, down below, do nothing to protest the tragedy that unfolds in the sky each evening
Because we do not know that
Each time the sun slips from you
He takes with him not only your light
But your happiness, too.
We know only that your colors are Pleasing to our blind eyes,
Eyes that are unaware that the red streaks painted across each evening sky are the places that your heart has been carelessly dragged
(Why do you not use this evidence as a distress signal?
Maybe we would notice.
Maybe we would see.)
And though you want nothing more than to ask the sun to stay,
You know it makes us happy to watch the process of him leaving;
So you gently urge a warm breeze across the almost-sleeping life below
And prepare yourself for another goodbye.
Most nights, you pretend to be asleep;
But you are wondering how it is that,
After he has left,
Those of us down below can still wish to be awake,
Alive.
Yet we live on, leaving you to wonder.
