The Sun

The sun’s just another of many dim lamp posts
I walk past those inhuman or ghoulish ghosts
The ashes of the angelic fallen pollute the air
As I meet face to face with a ghastly stare
My lord, my teacher, my mother, my father
Will I have to dread and suffer further?
Again with the stare, the infernal kind of heaven
No answer, but a riddle was given
“My child of both bold and shrewd,
Feed not yourself with egotistic food.
You do not lack potential and ability you see,
But life will not go on without mercy of its fee.”
How very off, this ghastly thing
Must I explain again about this Hell that it brings?
I am mocked by these monstrous mortal souls
And so I am emptied of my bright joyous bowl
It no longer shines upon the void of my days
Within my caged horrid body it stays
To devour everyone’s light as they speak
To isolate me so that my life will remain bleak
“No child, your happiness is of your own making
It is no other, but your own fault” it says, scolding,
“Afraid, you are, but courageous you must be
To be suffering, no one else wants to see”