The Sun’s Bully

By Riana Caggianiello

I am the sun on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,

I am the swift uplifting rush

- Mary Elizabeth Frye, Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

The Sun’s Bully

Glowing through your sharp tongued words,

The light I pushed through the palms of my hands.

Dripping blue blood into your black abyss,

eating my wetness, soaking it in.

This light I own and been giving to you.

Your greediness was inhumane.

Ignorance is what kept me shining for you,

ignorance I mistook for happiness.

My light, leaking from My veins;

I am the sun on ripened grain.

My blood is now mixed with yours,

dusty knees I craved.

Ripping holes throughout your body;

my body is your body, your body is mine.

Freezing bars kept me in, used

my love as ways to constrain.

You hid who you were.

The fool, playing the game you mastered.

I don’t recognize myself with all this pain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

Through the blackened grass,

flying over raised fists.

The ice on your breath, meant for cutting,

tear me down, as I am the dirt beneath your soles.

Lightness spreads over the sun I hid,

escaped in flashes of yellow, blush.

Wind catching brightness I grabbed.

Pull me up.

The stains are melting off, all I see now is lush.

When you wake up in the morning’s hush.

Shine brighter to spite.

You were the storm that hurdled through mountains.

I tore my hands to crawl away,

spitting on you, darkness,

worthy of me no longer.

Radiating clouds, increasingly plush;

I am too comfortable to fall back to you.

Light replaced blood and bone,

your words are nothing but a whispered shush.

I am the swift uplifting rush.