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,
Can’t be done.
Photo by John Towner