Apollo

Dusk always left wavers of crimson shades that bore resemblance to denouncement. The halt of light and diminished ignition of life, like scarlet velvet curtains drawn on the illusionists final act. It was the sacred sun that when rose kindled energy in our bloodstream and very nerves like a queen embellished by her beehive. The shone sun, lent hands to sunflowers that swayed obediently like monks who chant mantras with angelic faith while we painted clouds with our fingers to adorn the sun.

It is we, when blinded by the saintly sun at noon..

It is we, when the candle in us is extinguished by the faded sun -

who soulfully weep.

It is we, who cradle evanescent fireflies that glow freckles in the darkness as we choke on salt consumed by the heavy air..

and wait

and wait

for celestial zenith.