O Sun, you Brighten my Days

Cold, clear, fresh air.

Although slightly tainted by burnt, smoky, thick, Millennia-old plant-remains,

The bright, distant warm orb in the sky, brings light, fire and hope to my heart.

Sitting on a concrete slab in a rearranged square of greenery and tamed life,

I translate.

To all things I relate, while feeling solitude's opposite,

As others rummage through their belongings, heading somewhere important, under the illusion of time going by.

Hurried beings. Hurry until when ? "Hurry" shouldn't exist. Haste is a sin for the organized being.

To be organized, one must first come to terms with what is physically possible. Then, the goal is to take strain off one's mind, so as to not let it dwell on the future.

Being organized should help us live in the present.

You know what you have to do tomorrow, so why think about it ? Be what you are, and be what you are doing right now.

Don't be what you would like to be,

Don't be what isn't yet happening,

Else you won't enjoy anything.

I feel my solar cells recharged,

After a observing the docile trees -

Ignoring the background, smells like burning

Toxic death - towards my lungs I redirect the breeze,

Readying myself, to return to the battlefield of western reality.

Enjoying the junction in time, where hot and cold freeze.

Mounting my metallic donkey, I think of this prayer, in all humility :

O sun, brighten my days.

With all your might,

Blast me with your rays

And dissolve from sight

Any remaining haze :

Vaporize my deepest blight.