Sun of Midnight
Jerome

     The sun is setting on another day as I lay in the steel belly of the
great mechanical bird – but I know the sun shall never rise again – not on
the same world – not in my same life –
     A patchwork quilt of the poor man's labor decorates the land in a
surreal ecstacy of color and rich rural flavors – rives scar the land from
North to South, East to West, flowing ever onward toward the nirvana of
waters that is the ocean – one day, little stream, you will find your way –

     Now the sphere glows a ruby red and the sky is decorated like a prince
– in purples and golds and carnation pink – soon the great bird will vomit
me into its asphalt, mechanical, lifeless world and  I will follow blindly
the same path all others have tread in their search for truth and honesty
and purity,
     Now the sun sings with a violent orange – casting a copper brilliance
upon the face of the world and arousing thoughts of hope and beauty and
destruction, righteous purification – wrath –
     The sun shall never rise again – not to mine eyes, not to this mind,
for it is in the night that beauty is found – with peace and love and
harmony –
     The fiery globe grows crimson and sinks – into a sea of delightful
rest and platonic non-existence – leaves behind images of beauty and
nobility and simplicity – sharp in the minds of the beholder.
     When the impression of the sun upon my mind has slipped away into
subconscious thought and midnight has brought its eerie silence to mine
ears – never more will the sun appear as bright, once I have gazed into her
eyes.