The sun talks to me
From when I was little with no friends.
I would look inside her vivid mind
And she would show me colours of every kind.

When I looked away
All of reality turned into a white light
With a moment of seeing my mind
Pouring into a silver puddle,
Laced with fresh milk
Turning into a muddle.

The sun would show me dreams
From five to ten years out of sync.
To which nothing made sense
But only when,
Life caught up with repent.

I would tell friends their future
I could predict it like a picture
I can see messages like a school teacher
Delivering a mind-bending lecture.

But people just thought it was weird
And forgot about me painting pictures
Of a time that hasn’t yet begun
On this short journey written before you came.

The sun, she turned something on
When I sat in the playground
Staring inside her warm bosom,
For hours
Which apparently
Can’t be done.

Photo by John Towner

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