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The blight on sun born

a poem

By Emma DatsonPublished about a year ago 2 min read
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The blight on sun born
Photo by Clovis Wood Photography on Unsplash

It was a long time ago,

That I first felt his dark presence.

My mother had only just discovered,

That I was not alone but had a womb mate.

Not long after she watched as our grandfather

Rattled out his last breath.

__________________

It was then, that the eternal footman

First threw his shadowy cloak of night over me.

Which has always just felt wrong,

For I have always known.

Known amongst the gloom,

Known that I was sun born.

A child of the light,

Not a child of the night.

__________________

I should have been dancing you see.

Dancing all this time.

Dancing underneath,

A thousand whirling dreams of suns.

Instead, I have been struggling,

Struggling all this time,

To find my way through moonlight’s gloaming.

Not being seen, incapable of shining,

As I should have always been.

Being sun born, after all,

Means shining is my destiny.

__________________

Yes indeed, it was a long time ago

That I first felt the shadowy darkness of his night.

Since then, the eternal footman

Has been watching gleefully on.

Snickering, as the blight

He has placed upon me, unfolds.

So even though sun born I may be,

A child of the light.

It is a child of the night,

That I must remain for now, suffering.

__________________

I write this now, begging all of those that know me –

Whether you love or hate me,

Please, please help me now.

Help free me of the eternal footman, finally.

So that I may claim my destiny,

By dancing into the light of the sun,

Whirling off the shadows,

And the darkness of his blight.

_________________

I want to be free. I can be free.

No, I am sun born - I will be free!

Please help me to shatter this darkness,

To smash this night,

To break this shadow

Into a thousand lights of sun,

Into a thousand whirling dreams of sun!

____________________

This poem was written as part of the 2022 Literary Taxidermy Competition

It has the opening and closing lines from “As I Grew Older”, a poem by Langston Hughes

inspirationalsurreal poetry
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About the Creator

Emma Datson

I am 40ish, medically interesting, Australian poet, who is finally using her voice. My superpower is my vocabulary. Dive in and read an eclectic mix of poetry and creative non-fiction, full of love, grief and hope. Light, love

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