Dear Mister Sun [poem]

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Dear Mister Sun,
Your power matches none —
not counting all the many lights
which dot the sky each clearful night
(for they are suns in their own right).
I never bathed in their full rays;
they switch themselves off in my days,
although they take my breath away
in such intensely different ways —
more mystical, they drench my mind
in thoughts of the elastic kind
which stretch my head through unseen waves,
flooding them with cosmic rays.

[Beaming myself across the firmament
to you I return (not a chance event);
for only you can flood my awestruck eyes
and quickly render them completely blind].

Dear Mister Sun,
Forgive me that I just digressed
with a star-studded
stream of consciousness;
but when I think of outer space
I have to free my mind from
all the petty things which drag it down,
distract me from your astral crown.
It’s easy to see
how you could be worshiped
by primitive folk in ancient times —
although a confession here I bring:
my feelings for you I could sing
your praises in delightful rhymes
but I could never match
the glory of your glowing mass
[my waxen feathers you would melt
the closer to your heart I knelt].

I need no other flesh here by my side,
no other heavenly body as my bride,
no suitor or competitor will come.
Quite frankly, Mister Sun, you are The One!

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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