Painted colors flash the sky

Broken down as night comes by

When the day is done

So is the sun

Who’s brushes no longer glide

The color is shot

Smudged and Blotched

For sleep overtakes the sky

When the sun sinks

The moon merely blinks

As light shyly flashes up high

The darkness is here

Oh so unclear

Colors no longer see eye to eye

So, it’s actually not that interesting. I’m the guy in charge of making the sun “set”, literally all I do is push a button in my office that starts the countdown. I’m in charge of the eastern hemisphere, my friend Diane does the west, and we have relief shifts to cover changes in the seasons. I’m actually just an intern here, this is one of the most boring parts of the job followed by Ocean Tides and Flight Cancellations (yeah that’s us). I’ve been at this desk now for 865 years, just watching the sun go up and down, I’ve requested a transfer to Infectious Diseases a few times but it’s been denied; I’m still pretty green apparently. This job does have its perks, my favorite part though is watching you guys when the sun starts going down. Most of you are too busy driving home or cooking dinner to even notice it, I guess that’s understandable though, it is super boring. Some of you, I’ve noticed, tend to stop for prolonged periods and just stare at the sun as I set it. Like for a moment, life slows down and you are reminded all of a sudden of the endless passage of time. Some people value it more than others, I’ve seen painters depict my work for generations, mimicking the spectrum of fleeting lights in the sky with their brushstrokes and pens. I’ve heard songs exclaiming the “beauty” or “intensity” of this moment of the day. I’ve seen people fall in love, cry in dispair, some even just sit reflectively exploring the inner universe of their minds. The sun brings something out in you, some kind of deep-seated longing for adventure. I can remember a time when all you had was the sun to depend on for time, directions, even livelyhood; the job felt a lot more important back then. But It’s like you guys still worship this thing even though you know that it’s just a star, one of billions just like it. That’s really what I admire about humans, they can take even the most boring, scientifically reduced and overly explained phenomena and attach significant emotional expression to it. It really makes the job feel worth it.

So, I know what happens when the sun sets. Humans watch it.

Under the evening sky, I ask my mother:

“What happens when the sun sets? Where does it go?

What does it feel, and why can’t it stay?”

She smiles at me (a flower crown clutched gently in her hands).

“The sun sets,

because it needs to go home.

It must return to its daughter; it must tend to its broken souls.”

For with the setting sun, lost souls return home;

and when the sun rises, those lost souls rise as well,

safe within its warmth.”

I do not know (I am too young)

what it means to be a lost soul.

I do not ask (I know too well);

that my mother smiles at the distant sky, the bright golden sun

because there is someone she is waiting to welcome home.

Decades pass (I am no longer young),

and I stand before a decorated tomb.

There is still so little that I know (what I do know, she has taught me).

I lay a flower crown gently at her grave.

I feel the warmth of a setting sun;

and I know,

when it passes the horizon,

that I can welcome her home.

Under the night sky, I ask my mother:

“What happens when the sun sets? Where does she go?

What does she feel, and --

Why can’t she stay?”

(An answer I already know,

An answer I can’t stand to hear.

Another night fades into day;

and this conversation, we will have again.

Every time the sun sets,

until I am truly old,

until I, too, go home with the sun.)

this word is what I thought of

i tried to write a poem

something to capture the endless

and somehow instantaneous

beautiful moment of evanescence

(which is a fancy way to describe something that fades quickly)

the way a sun sets and sighs

the softened lips after goodbyes

the painful way a sleeping dies

that's what I want to see

it's deeper than you've dreamt

so powerfully unkempt

alas it's state is tempt

a rose to that of three

white and yellow too

a red to follow you

and black alive it grew

as dark as nights rapport

the cheeks are named by one

"those rosie cheeks" by some

a gardened little one

the earliest of four

this shade is mine to clasp

I know it shouldn't last

I'll place in tempered glass

cut stem, as life, is stripped

for death will take it's place

an order as we trace

it's life to help us face

our own as end is gripped

and when the roses pass

I'll lend within me mass

to mourn such gentle lass

as nature has its peak

that softens every face

though flower is replaced

how can we but retrace

it's countenance to speak

#rose #poetry #poetrycontest

The sun sets

and rises in the east.

The moon sets

and rises in the west.

A constant chase

where the moon loves the sun.

They can never touch

or even see the other.

So when the sun sets

and the moon rises.

They cry their love-struck tears.

The Sun. A being of Life, Destruction, and Light. Soaring high and radiating like a Goddess. As big as a giant but soft like water. Burning thousands of stars in its light. You would think this, astonishing and powerful being would live forever, never to die. But, this being has a curse. Controled by Time and Order, it must burn out and die for a long time, plunging the world and void into darkness, leaving it dormant of life. But, like a phoenix, it rises from its ashes and soars high and burns ebven brighter, restoring Life and Peace. A sun is like a phoenix, it dies but it will be rebirthed, stronger and better then before from the ashes