Everybody is fond of the sunset
signalling the end of another
wasted day in the dune of wasted
days, weeks, months and
years and years.
Every sunset I am disappointed with myself
yet still drunk on its romance.
With every sunrise however
life radiates each shadow,
each curtain thin or thick,
each orphan still in bed,
each prison cell.
For everyone there is
a new freshness in its breeze
despite all sins,
repeated mistakes,
diminished hope,
and human madness.
The sun will rise
unwearied, undefeated.
Even if it’s going to be the same story
over and over and over, again.
The sun will rise
until a handful of souls
break this cycle like snowdrops.