Sun (I)

As a pale sun slides through the dirty panes
Salt grains endlessly flow and it still hurts
For I have a dying pen through my fingers
To describe dreams I never – ever – had.
That lonely sun wraps me up in nothingness
As the boring sound of approaching steps
Bounces in rhymes through the cleanest walls
And I stare at a titanic part of me as it falls.
Pure in soaring, a light flashes around
Bearing and deserving no comparison
With that sun, yet a thunder, a fierce thump
Of a thousand hues painting my heart.
I did benefit from it, of course,
Imagine a sunny day, make it April,
Imagine a sword exploiting a mallet,
Imagine it buried in your backyard.
That was us. Us, unaware of it all;
Whilst the suns descend, I still regret
You, sparkling jade, magnolia and yellow
At your funeral on the last desk.