One hundred years I can burn.
But, I may only a second more.
I reject the Sun we yearn:
That which nature warbles to and dotes on.
Night descends on the light so bright,
And kills its pompousness outright.
I hate your attention, O’ Father, O’ Sun.
What glory to be in your shadow.
Do you follow?
Do you praise?
Those life giving – but hollow
In love – pathetic rays?
Do you seek the solemnity of a star?
Do you seek solitary death which is yours?
I may burn strong today like a blue flame,
But so easily are life’s candles blown.
I may seem indifferent, so close yet so far;
Like trying to find a rose upon the moors.
One label, one throne, one mind, and one name:
Into this world we’re brutally thrown.
I hate the Sun so, and hate much less equally.
But for the Moon I also feel no affinity.
My deepest, darkest desire is to snuff it out:
Then I won’t be the only one bathed in darkness.