Mourning Sun

I wrote this and it just flowed. I read it and I want to weep. It touches me, yet I no not what it means, but it may mean something to others. Thank you for reading.

In shades of red, the sky cries
in fearful need, the scent upon
the wind a softly hissing rapture
contained within the dreams of many.

The light blushes a beam of gratitude
to the weary dreamer, mourning sun of
autumn making itself known.

A canvas unwritten, blankness seen,
dignity of quiet lassitude, I am the creation
of awareness, I am the dancer.

I sob tears of complexity, the consciousness
of streams meander down a path of
my choosing.

The light of determination, emerges
as the daylight of hopes for a better

Acquanetta Ferguson, copyright, 2009



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