Poems about sun

The goddess spoke.
Her mouth opening like
Clouds letting sun through.
Her words, shimmering
Blessed him
With warmth again.

I hold a piece of heaven each and every night
And like the stars above, my love for you shines bright
I often sit and question, what did I ever do to deserve you
A love so pure, so innocent
My demons fear its magnitude
For in your eyes are the answers
To every question of doubt
For now I know my purpose
You're the only one I can't live without

Let
Your
Soul
Taste
The
Light of the sun
When
You follow
Your passion

Jimmu is walking dejectedly
He gazes at your smile
And makes amends to the sky

In nights of rest,
Rest assured I will see you in all sunny tomorrows
So much solar power
Feeds the earth,
Feeds the soul,
Incumbent in its given place,
We sail-pirouette around it
On a spherical hoop-dance

So volatile, a combustion hydrogen-cosmic-lantern
And a coalescing helium brew
Lash out your heated tongues
Push flare waves to lick our living sphere,
Concentrates on heated brows and scatters atoms and molecules

The upper push for earth-life and this mater Sun
Is but a conservador wearing its blinding cosmic-girth

Made homage to, anthropomorphized in past primordial granduer, spot your ancient rays on earth's gyrating seasons,
From dawn to dusk so much the sun...

So fucked in the face of it
At the end of it, your perception
On the nose of it
This feeling in my nose
This tingling wall
This numby crunchy face on my face that blocks out the light and the truth and the life... that's how it feels... sorta
How crazy does that read?
I'll bet it reads ugly.
I'll bet it reads sick.
It should because its a description of drugs crazy people, ie. people like me take to try to feel less crazy
They make your god damn face feel like it jumped rebellious,
Eyes, ears, nose, throat, turned traitor.

Escitalopram
Buproin
Nuvigil
Lithium Carbonate
Quetiapine
Abilify
Risperdone
Harpoon IPA
Johnnie Walker Red Label blended scotch whiskey

It seems there can come a certain special kind of time in a man's life,
When he can feel weird and lonely enough
To type a few words
And call it poem.
Fucking Bukowski.
This is his legacy. the possibility to do what I'm doing right now.
Without that disgusting, self-centered fool
I never would have thought to try and write these weird feelings I'm feeling.

A little attention,
That's what strokes this need.
A few incidental internet readers,
To read this strangely pointless pontification
On the bits of sadness that are me.

I wish i could find an open field
And lay back comfortable
In the crisp cold air
And feel the stars shoot through me
My heart pounding in the dirt
And waiting for sex or sun or wolves or rain
Or anything else you might call "love. "

I wish for more death
Or more life
I can't stay here.

Some nights,
Alone in bed
The darkness
Was so alive
I swore
I felt it
Roaming
Around
Inside
My
Head
And
It's
Taken me
This long
To learn
The morning
Will always
Come,
Bearing sun
Anyway

Fear is a vine that beats down across my back, leaving uneven lines and parallel marks.
Is it always the prettiest flowers that become the most deadly? You're poisonous to the touch.
All that calms me is all that fails to bring me happiness. Your jasmine scented perfume only reminds me of a love left unanswered; of a bird too scared to lift its wings and try out flight.
Maybe I would like the cold when I wake up, a thick shield of darkness to cover up and hide the person who I was never strong enough to be.
You'll look me in the eyes when you tell me that it's too hard to love me. Those oceans will be replaced with dull, empty ponds but you'll mean every word, you'll speak as if getting it off your chest will make the sun come back.