The sun is a tyrant,
Thermometers were its heralds,
Yet we still opened our windows,
Below these beams of radiation do I reside,
And my willpower is stripped from me,
Melted down to perspiration,
Burned to cinders,
Scorched beyond recognition,
I am a wickerman,
Burned to X’s and O’s,
Sandcastles have become my skin,
Sweat has become my lifeblood,
My breath has become a menagerie of spices,
Made pink by the skys hatred,
I am scorched,
As are we all.
In these scorching months,
Me and the sun continue our samba,
It’s this crimson dance we do every year,
Me and that solar predator,
Nuclear in her vivacity and brilliance,
Our dancefloor is the open blue sky,
My skin gripes in the heat,
Painted red in the radiation,
I don’t scream,
Even as my flesh sizzles,
The mercury rising is the chorus we sway to,
I’m a glowing one,
This summer dance cannot go on long enough,
I revel in the swelter,
My sweat only the toll I pay,
To not feel the grip of winter again.
The fickleness of spring gives way,
The temperature rises,
And with it comes the anticipation,
Hope for this year,
And the trees samba to a thankfully cool breeze,
As we rejoice around the barbeque,
Sunbathing and sunburns,
Beaches and azure waves,
Picnics and chilled beverages,
These temporary heavens,
I adore them all,
These hallmarks of a summer fulfilled.
A counterpart of sorts of ‘Grey Skies’.
I took a stroll this afternoon,
Along a stony road of optimism,
To ponder the world,
And my future in it,
The cerulean sky,
It stretches on to infinity,
The grey has lifted,
I can see the sun finally,
The sky cheers me on,
A heavenly audience of hope,
I smile freely and openly,
Among the solar spotlights,
The wisps of sprightly cloud,
They tell me,
Even misery fades into freedom,
Sadness is not made of chains,
Progress and smile onwards,
I return home a better man,
The grey clouds,
They are forgotten for eternity.
