When morning comes around again
I just might shed a tear
I want to stay in bed all day
And wait for night to near
Why must the foolish sun insist
On shining through my window?
Its brightness and its stupid rays—
I’ll groan into my pillow
Another day, and oh so fast
The time just passed me by
It’s time to get up, go to work
Although I’d rather die
Oh Sun, you devil in disguise
You cruel, relentless thing
If I could burn as bright as you
I’d shine on everything here too
But I cannot, I’m just a girl
Wading in our little world
So you can stay up there and glow
While I wake up to start the show
About the Creator
angela hepworth
Hello! I’m Angela and I love writing fiction—sometimes poetry if I’m feeling frisky. I delve into the dark, the sad, the silly, the sexy, and the stupid. Come check me out!
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (3)
Lol!
Ah, if this isn't relatable, lol. Loved your poem!
I fully sympathise with this: "Why must the foolish sun insist On shining through my window?" I generally love the sun, but mornings...urgh!