Ten Thousand Suns

January 27, 2010

In yonder hills, ten thousand suns do sleep,
awaiting for the moment of their births,
Where each will burst with crimson light do bleed
the morning skies with gaiety and mirth.

In confidence the blazing path traversed,
across the heavens, as his brothers have,
he finds his steps in memory reversed,
as if with different eyes he saw the past.

Alas, at last, with glorious dying sigh,
he yields his strength to coming of the night.
With dying breath he bids the world goodbye
and bleeds his soul in shattered scattered light.

The mighty suns will live for but a day;
Your word, oh Lord, will never pass away.


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