BURNT BY THE SUN
What it means to be Russian, to be burnt by the sun
Burnt by the sun
The sun of the Revolution
A burning so great,
Crisp skin flutters above calm waters
The epiphany of dark matter
Where human psyche bathes in blood
As dual nature reigns, and terror reigns
Between a liquid, blazing heart, and a rigid, freezing mind
An eternal longing to survive
Purged by the fear of disorder
Granting sovereignty to
Relentless suppression and control
An eternal longing to be perverse
Where human blindness breeds
The slaves of slaves of slaves
Feeding them, nurturing their sweat
Burnt by the sun
The sun of the Revolution
A burning so great,
Crisp skin flutters above calm waters
About the Creator
Maria Parsheva
She had eyes like ocean water, deep sea glass with rugged edges
She had lips as hard as pearls and coral moonlight in her hair
Hi, I'm Maria and I've been writing poetry, stories and books since I was very young. To me writing is breathing.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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