A Stain upon the Sun [poem]
One siren sunrise, when all was seeming well,
a shiverness within my limbered hull
was sounding off with bells — a death knell
tocsin making every atom of my heart
stand to attention while their goosebump
broken hairs stood on their ends in sympathy.
Gathering my telescope into my reckful hands
I put it to my eye and glaredly stared into the sun.
Then, just before my retina was turned to ash,
I saw with open jaw a stain upon that Golden One.
Well may readers wonder why I sacrificed that
half’s-worth of my eyes so as to spy upon that
darkly stain. The answer is that this young man
could not believe what his own eyes did spot.
For on that sun there was a wretched blot which
he had never seen before (nor ever would again).
Before that day that Sun had shone its laser rays
relentlessly and unrelentingly, as any starlight should.
No defect had yet shown itself, for it was well disguised
(no trace of lies or stain of any size) and from outside
all the blaze seemed furnace-like and good.
But once my inner sight had fully opened up
(despite the fact the outer sight was wholly burnt),
I had then to conclude with some surprise that this
now blemished sun is not nor cannot ever be the one
I thought before I put the eyeglass to my eye.
Once a stain like that begins it does not stay the same.
It grows like ink dropped on absorbent paper
till no more paper shows and only ink remains.
Thus, I must then disavow that sun and from its rays
must turn my back and with all haste will run.
When darkness issues from a ball of shouldbe light
that ersatz shine with no more hesitation I must shun.
It was my test to see if I could leave such suns behind
with no regrets and no nostalgic backward glances
(this is how it works for me with tarnished suns, I find).
Now, instead of complicated stained old suns
(which only poison with their concentrated radiation),
I seek simpleness and honesty, though still imbued with
voltagefuls of electricity and serendipity — authenticity
and rooted in a solid earthy fount of truth foundation.
© Alan Morrison, 2015
The Naked Troubadour 