The Sun

We should be thankful, we’ve escaped sun’s wrath

There are seven other planets that can attest to that

Too hot or too cold, life’s becomes a fickle mistress

We are wrapped in an air blanket that serves as a witness

The power of gravity has shaped our bones

The kindness of the sun has kept us from turning into stones

But why? When we are turning earth into a bed of thorns

The bees have drifted away, who mourns?

There are yet places where flowers can bloom

In our heart, when it has dusted off the gloom

We don’t need roads unless they get us to the sky

Where we can thank the sun for being the golden eye

In the sky, where the sun’s never shy

Constantly reminding us of the day we’ll be life’s alumni

There is still time in our tanks to say a word of thanks

Before we meet darkness as we rise through the mind’s ranks