this is like a MORNING send-off fully embracing gifts. thanksFULL

your vOIC3 is merciless and soft how do u even do this

a shamanic monologue for the 21st century

can't believe u made this in a fucking hour

The Golden Sun


And the Golden Sun rises at my back,
	And I know that I am saved.
				Sobs spring unbidden to my chest.
		Up my throat.
			Between my lips.
				And hot tears streak down my cheeks


And the Golden Sun rises at my back
And fires its arrows into my groggy heart.
		Old passions reignite under their searing barbs.
Soon, the shimmering sky calls out to me, pouring itself through my eyes like 
Molten gold.
		And I am blind to all but its siren song.


And the Golden Sun rises at my back
	And I know that I am saved.
				Oh God, thank you for this precious gift of life.
			Thank you for my well-being.
	Thank you for the world’s rightness.
					Its goodness.
					    Its perfection.
	    And thank you for love.


And the Golden Sun rises at my back,
Singing its eternal song,
Dancing its endless dance 
Looping upon itself through the ages until-!



And the Golden Sun rises at my back.
Infinite and bold.








The Crimson Sun


And the Crimson Sun sets behind me,
It shines and sinks into the sea.
Silvery surfaces flash in its wake
Until it falls at eternity.

And so it goes, the blind man stumbles,
Groping and feeling his way down the path.
And so it goes, the wise man grows,
Watching the light, learning the math.

But what of us, oh little children,
What of us who have heard the way
     but can’t see the road at our feet we’ve been told we will meet our 
     own god, and what will we say when it comes to that day and we’re 
     all alone in front of his throne and he asks us what we have learned?
    What then, little children?
         What will we say then?


           Don’t die yet.
                  Do not die yet.

For there are more lessons to know,
Many more tasks before you go.
In time, my child, in time you will see.

        Don’t die yet.


The Sun, Reborn

It’s been a decade and a half 
a long many years of clouds and aching gray.
I’ve seen the drops of rain,
	felt them on my tongue
and the Sun has stayed hidden; a flightless bird, a lucky dodo who learned not to trust. The Sun has buried himself just past the horizon, down by the equator, sizzling the ocean until it steamed like a hot skillet.
Sometimes I could still touch him, like my father’s ruby ring in my pocket, like a fizzling tablet, like a lozenge, popping with energy, crackling to escape. I could hold him in my hand and feel his brightness traveling up my arm. kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

Today the Sun is reborn. He burrows into my skin and pours out my fingertips. He does not pat me on the back. He urges me, “Move forward. Do more. Live.” 

Today, 
I listen.

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