Thursday, June 21, 2012

Blame the Sun: an Ode

Oh, Sun, you fickle star,
Not even star, but coin of gold-shine,
Now near, now far,
A season-maker as you climb the sky,
Or drop Dow-Jones-like
Into your depression.
What’s with you, Sun?
Van Gogh and you:
Who else likes to stare
So wildly at the world?
Give me an intensity break.
Soft, and pray you.
Meditate and find
The moderate path.
Not everyone has air conditioning,
Or heat when you’re
Philandering at night.
Where’s your mom
In all of this?
I mean, God –
Who do you think
You are?

John Sevcik