BENDING TOWARD THE SUN

BENDING TOWARD THE SUN

 

A.K. Fulricke

 

Bending from the Sun’s bright burning,

Through the air of autumn's ebb;

Those summer days spent in yearning

Were the weaving of the web.

Rest your head

On silky Death.

 

Fearing it might scorch his wings,

He stays himself from the Light;

Fearing what the darkness brings,

He must secure himself in flight.

A Spider’s fly,

By and by.

 

Such a treacherous place to find

Oneself, dangling o’er the abyss,

Twisting and hanging on a line,

The fires of home he does miss.

Such a shame;

A losing game.

 

Like a cottonwood seed afloat,

He’s subject to the fickle breeze;

Alighting with the seabound boats,

He’s captive to the Seven Seas.

The hand is cold

That grips the soul.

 

Weary of the watery grave,

He struggles hard against its hold;

A battered soul to be saved,

Today’s slag; tomorrow’s gold.

Are there rays

Of hope today? 

 

Flung upon the shore of Night— 

Where have gone the golden beams

For the lone and piteous sight

Who purchased trifles with his dreams?

The undying hold

Of fool’s gold.

 

It once was said of every fool

That the birds of Truth fly past,

In the sunny Days of school— 

No effort ever made to grasp,

Nor to tether

A single feather.

 

Bedraggled seed upon the sand,

Under sky, on barren shore;

On this tract of desert land, 

The seed will sprout nevermore.

At last smitten

By what was written.

 

A lovely clime that once was lively

Was swallowed up into the sand— 

Now a desert that was wisely

Deserted by a wiser man.

Nothing there

But wizening air.

 

When the rain did finally fall,

Upon the wretched skeleton seed,

It found itself behind the wall

That it built with its own deeds.

At last ensnared

By Law declared.

 

When the Sun showed its face,

The little seed took to the wing,

Caught up in a windy place,

Moving round in a ring.

Wings of white

Glow in the Light.

 

There was a time when he went roaming

In his sunny haunts and climes,

Whether in the morn or gloaming,

With his noble head held high.

But an age of vice

Demands a price.

 

Not a pittance, nor a farthing

Will satisfy the Monster’s soul;

Blood for blood in the warring— 

Life for life, the debt to close.

Relentless war

To settle the score.

 

Brick by brick the walls were built

To keep a heartless world away;

But bars forged from time to kill

Became a prison, day by day.

The air is cold

When the story's told.

 

The sands of time wear at his mind

Reminders of a life expected;

And the hand of Fate would prove unkind

While upon his days he reflected.

A wasted chance

For one last dance.

 

The moon and stars are aeons apart;

From midnight's sky do they hang.

Victim of the devil’s art,

Awaiting the final death knell’s clang.

But no one has won

Till the war is done.

 

The steely cold of nighttime’s crest

Presses upon the sturdy walls;

Crawls through the cracks, invades his breast— 

Before its steady march he falls. 

The roots grow deep,

His soul to keep.

 

For many an hour he besought

The fiery fingers of daylight’s reach;

Not passing his days as he ought

Brought the breaking and the breach.

He seeks the Sun— 

But the day is done.

 

The darkness is become complete;

The icy hand has found his neck;

Despair has come to fill the keep;

The light to drown, the ship to wreck.

An endless life

Ends tonight.

 

*******

 

But as he beholds one last time,

This earth to bid adieu;

A distant gleam reflects in his eye,

And grows brighter, too.

Will the Scythe

Pass him by?

 

The longest Night he has known

Now has traveled past him;

The Day has dawned, the Reaper flown,

And every shadow is blasted.

Brighter days

Beyond the haze.

 

Bending toward the Sun’s bright glare,

He has at last found his Mark;

Searching through the dazzling air,

He seeks the Light, curses the Dark.

The war is done;

And He has won.

 

 

 

 

 

•