Poem: The Sacred Sun

The sun, it rises slow and shy,
A weary eye against the sky.
Its golden rays, once bold and bright,
Now tremble at the edge of night.

It fears the shadows creeping near,
The cold that whispers in its ear.
What if the day should slip away,
And leave the world in endless gray?

The morning fog, a cloak of doubt,
Wraps round the light, keeps it out.
The sun, unsure of what it sees,
Tugs at the clouds, and starts to freeze.

It wonders, will it burn too bright?
Will it exhaust the endless light?
Or is it destined to decay,
And fade into the darkened day?

Yet still, it climbs, though faint and small,
A trembling ember, standing tall.
Its warmth, a whisper on the breeze,
A promise made by ancient seas.

For fear is just a passing friend,
A shadow that will bend and bend.
The sun knows this, though faint it stands,
It will not break; it will not end.

And though it falters in its rise,
It knows the secret of the skies:
That darkness always gives way to light,
And after fear comes burning bright.

So when you see the sun withdraw,
And hide behind a cloud or law,
Know that it’s only taking pause—
A scared sun still has strength to cause.

And in the end, its light will burn,
For every fear will soon return
To where it came, to where it fled—
And in that light, we’re all reborn instead.

Thank-you for reading.

Much Love and Light,

Brenda Marie