The Son

Little yellow ball of burning gases,

I stare at thee on the warm summer afternoons,

Over a cool drink and a cigar,

Contemplating life decisions.

For a moment you seem to hide,

Behind a wall of vapour,

The droplets form and you are lost,

To the grey clouds of winter.

The cold invites me to a place surrounded by the unknown,

Maybe I have been here before,

I could never comprehend the concept of time,

But in this place, it is lost to the will of the cosmos.

This place,

This wonderful, beautiful escape,

Came at a price I could never afford.

To pay with my past is just unthinkable,

To forget who I am,

And start anew.

Little orange ball of burning flames,

I see you as clearly as the light of day,

For you are shining right above me,

And from my paradise I consider thee so lovely.

Take me now from this place,

I see it lost, and fallen from grace.

Take me now and all is forgiven,

From the grave, my body shall rise.

To right the wrongs of my broken past,

And see the world end in a hopeless mess.

Come out little yellow ball,

The world awaits a hero.

Rise up little one,

You are, after all, the son of the sun.