The Eastern Sun

I raise arms, I, the eastern sun

Who climbs steadily atop the horizon

Burning through clouds

Exposing flesh to a masters eye

A pin-prick in the universal consciousness

A whole in this ocean of shattered glass

I am but a fragment of a fragment

A fraction of magnificence, buried

In the light of my own element, scattered

Amongst these trillion other grains of sand

Pale white children who call out

For attention, who would raise a forest here

At a glance, as the skies washed over

Their early graves, who swear they could save this

Dying world, whose skin peels into deserts

Whose scars erupt, spilling their molten desire

Over igneous facades, they dress in black

A child's logic, to protect their translucent skin

To selfishly keep their blood within

Farthest they can, from my burning complexion

I burn through their monoxide will

Bend them into ultraviolet shades, these lakes

Of fire, whose eruptions belie my satisfaction

I raise arms, I, the eastern sun

Ask no forgiveness, even as I drink in

The affectations of another, immortality bathed in

The passing, long have they yearned

To touch my soul, to know

I wouldn't turn to ash, as they had

I wear their damnation, tear at their dresses

Spare me from descending at last

I have burned, eternal

Amidst this pile of earth and ash

A candle held to dying stars

A mortal to travel the length of the heart

A god to remember as worlds part

I desire illumination, conspire against the darkness within

My very soul, I am made whole by the fire

A story told in funeral pyres

Spilt from the filthy lips of liars

I am the lighter, the match, the combustion

Of all you held, and never willed

The remnants of a world killed

I raise arms, I, the eastern sun

To a kingdom earned in my own blood

Wallow in the fading light

For one to take me to the night

One who stands the fire's heights

I await ashen fate, to bring balance

To the skies.