August 27th, 2004

Excerpt from the real Journal

3/7/00

The Sun

Like a lemon you hung
over the bitter desert
bleeding sunlight
into the blue sky

And I watched until you fell
into the black night
only to shatter unseen
beneath the rim
and then emerge again
in the endless constellations
configured
from the splintered shards
of your remains

And each one became a promise
became an hier of righteousness
A testament to the barrenness
in which they were concieved
Mirroring the infinite sands
amid which one believed
and found that it was counted
unto him for ritgheousness
and unto me

And the sky they say
has never been the same
And the Sun
is yearning for the day
When each glassy fragment
scattered
will be recalled
by the coming of the dawn
To reassemble
and remember
what the world was like
before the Son was gone

And the world they say
will never be the same


David Sweet

Note: When I wrote this in the Spring of 2000 I had been writing poetry for over 20 years and yet thought that it was the first real poetry I had ever written.
I still like it although it did not merit positive reviews from my family. Alas all great artists must suffer in this way. And, uh stinky artists too.