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Poems On / About SUN  7/3/2015 3:17:51 PM
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Best Poems About / On SUN
 
 
 
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  121.     

Proof Of The Sun, Is The Sun Itself

Herein a tale is told, if God wills, one of the radical mystery to thee will unfold.
The mystery will make manifest the veil, and through every dubiety, your faith will prevail!

There were once three men before the resplendent Sun,
The blind, short-sighted, and the clear-sighted one.

On hearing the import of the splendid Sun, it’s very entity was disdainfully denied by the blind one, more the wonders of its radiance were told, increasingly, to his own beliefs would he stolidly hold.
Thus rejecting its ways he wandered, was lost, and perished in the very darkness he cherished!

The short-sighted man did see some light, but to him, neither the lamp nor the Sun wins the fight. The Sun rose and so did It set, but the sun of his vain imagining was always around, days passed and he gave no heed to the Sun, for now he lived in wilderness with a few lamps of his own. He made his paths, without bounds traversed, his impulse decided between the right and the wrong, for him the crow at sight appeared to be singing the Nightingale’s Song!

Deportments of these two saddened the discerning one, for he knew neither their ungratefulness nor their sightlessness can diminish the glory of the Sun. To him the light was separated from darkness, the flower from the weed, the crystal water from the muddied stream, the right from the wrong, the croaking from the Song.

All the three were no doubt, unconditionally sustained, but the blind ate the rock, the short-sighted had some bark and leaves, while the perceptive young man set up for himself a table fit for the kings and the queens!

β€˜How can you see something, if you are convinced of its non-existence? Let me guide you’ said the observant one.

Came a reply from the two, β€˜Ah! Enough! We have already banished, persecuted, and crucified many like you! ’


By Suraj Motiwala
 
Suraj Motiwala

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  122.     

When I See The Sun

When I see the sun from its east coast rising
Let me tell you my love how I feel
When I see the sun, I see the muse of the grand architect
I see the logical power of one almighty worth more than gold
I see the divinity of a deity so capable of manipulating the grand fireball
But also I see you my love

When I, with these eyes, see the sun
I remember the day it shone on you on that beautiful day
I see the wonders of the one capable of taming the sun when I see your face
I witness the masterpiece of the master sculptor in your heart

When I see the sun rising above from its peaceful slumber
I see how beautiful you are my love
I see his master work in the rising and falling sun
But I see his greatest perfect work in you my love
For your love is far more beautiful than the sun above!
 
Thomas Duncky

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  123.     

Heliograph

(Self-Portrait) Omens and Astrology. A desert flat and undisturbed, stupid and forlorn. Sunless. a caravan of failures. Pons Asinorum and the Feast of the Ass and revolt against standardized American childhood.
War and Violence.
Catapults and Torches and the first stray thrusts of Sun into the Soul. Bombardments and Bordels. Heraldry and High Walls. Too rigid to crumble but not too strong to fracture.

Post-War Depression.
Extensive swamps formed by alcohol stagnating in the brain. Away from the gregariousness of the elephant towards the singleness of the hawk.

Omens and Astrology.
From Fog to Sun. Leaves and Inflorescence. Four columns of red marble. The scorification method. Love-Madness. Torchbearer and the complete entrance of Sun into Soul. Sunfire.

Boa Constrictor
through the thick grass. Red Skeletons. Silver Scar by Silver Image and Cicatrix. Reculer pour mieux avancer. The beaten forces were at last withdrawn safely into the Island.

The Primitive Method
of strengthening the soul by dropping red-hot sunstones into it. Rimbaud and Van Gogh. Counter-Attack. Turbulence. Chariot of the Sun.

The Mad Queen.
The violent state of fusion. Her Sun tattoed on my back. The bold progressive march to the Sun. Multiplication of Madness. anarchism. I lay siege to the Sun.
 
Harry Crosby

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  124.     

Winter

The sun was overwhelmed by woe, for reasons that were unknown. Soon all else was saddened also, except one with a heart of stone. All manners of things in time froze, leaving a cold maiden alone. No other life would she have chose, for 'twas the only one she knows. The chill might have spawned from a touch, one that had been made by a witch, or one who hadn't felt love much, it doesn't really matter which. Once you've what was once out of reach, even with little you are rich. The maiden gained peace few could breach, while to none having to beseech.

The world was the maiden's to claim, and she took it without delay. Things would remain how they became, as long as she could have her way. The maiden sang in her fine range, and wrote sonnets throughout the day, as she loved how the world was strange, but soon there was to be a change. The cold weather started to calm, as the sun broke free from its gloom. The world gained some of its old charm, so tempting life to again bloom. The maiden thought it a bad dream, she wanted the cold to resume. After having thought up a scheme, she sought to lessen the sun's gleam.

After the right texts were read, the maiden gained powers that few had. Some invocations were then said, so that the world became snow clad. Life was unable to pervade. No longer was the maiden sad, as the sun's might began to fade, due to the changes made. The sun's light was reflected back, making sure the world remained dark. The sun made a counter attack, but it deserves little remark. Things looked to be ever more bleak, while the maiden was free to lark, because of all that she did wreak, the sun became depressed and weak.

The might of the chill was upheld, precisely as had been fabled. Its cruel grip was unparalleled, there was slim chance hope would be herald. None could make the maiden less cold, and she wouldn't bow till humbled, but that event was not foretold, and so that no one would behold. The frozen landscape would glisten, so that beauty would be abound, tears and smiles form in unison, to help prevent one feeling down. The maiden seemed content alone, She would dance and never frown. Change came while seeds of time were sown, for she'd spent too long on her own.

The maiden's life had a defect, for there was one thing she lacked, she was haunted as an effect. With another she craved contact. Due to what a thirst can inflict, the maiden was compelled to act. She had yearnings like an addict, for a love would make her perfect. The maiden's quest started with zeal, as she was hopeful she'd succeed, but it proved to be an ordeal. It was a gruelling task indeed. The maiden yielded to defeat, and then tried to forget her need, since there wasn't a love to meet, for life is sometimes bittersweet.

Touching herself till comforted, killed the maiden's feelings within, but she regretted what she did, for it proved to be her ruin. The maiden soon felt discomfort, and froze due to touching her skin. It was a mistake she would admit, for on her, her life in time quit. The world was the maiden's no more, and within it little did stir, since it was so harsh and raw, and change seemed doubtful to occur. The maiden stayed locked in despair, all because love weren't meant for her. So have a heart with which to care, to shake a life that's hard to bear.
 
Christian Lacdael

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