Twisting. I turn to stand once more,
Upon the brink of the universal sea.
To offer myself once more, unto,
Eternal night and peace of failure.
Having been turned away by force,
From the face of the sun that I so love,
Soul burned from his rays, Eyes,
Blinded by his light, I slip away,
Into the shadow, know my place.
The pole star and the sun care not.
For they, the stuff of light and air,
Chose to distain, this clump of mud,
And see no worth in that which tries,
To grow. So I embrace my mother,
Night, stand as her son. Knowing,
Now my place. Proud sun.  You scorch,
And whither with your blessed touch,
Before you choose to slip away.
Leaving only scars where could be life.
But that is not the lot of this weak soul.
Instead, like leper,  evil to the touch,
The choice is made, no explication,
Warranted, I chose the darkness.
Let grandmother bath the me now,
Tend to my wounds, and make me,
Strong again. I that was willing, nay,
That craved, To do the needful things,
Will do them now alone. Perhaps,
One day, when I am old, the sun and I,
May still be friends, but I suspect,
The truth will be, other flowers,
You’ll choose to grow for thee.

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