The Same Sun

We watch the sun go down
but we don’t. We engage at technology.
Immersed in our augmented status. Evolving some vicious digital ghost.
Whirling dismally in fat houses.
Panicking.
The same sun rises. We somehow convince ourselves that it is the way of things. A bold survival.
It’s going to be fine.

We watch the sun go down
our village burned.
We watch our fathers die from bullets and brute force. We are made to watch soldiers rape our mothers, sisters.
United by dark horror we are hungry
helpless. Scratching for hope.
The same sun rises. We somehow convince ourselves that it is the way of things. A bold survival.
It’s going to be fine.

We watch the sun go down.
Reckless in some heady drug. Chemical flashes.
Touching, feeling rooted with the self.
Sliding through crowds of people all looking exactly the same.
Sand between our sex and beauty examples surround us.
Night lessons in thumping, short bursts.
The same sun rises. We somehow convince ourselves that it is the way of things. A bold survival.
It’s going to be fine.

We watch the sun go down.
Perching on the bones of our house, still warm from the bombings.
Most of us dead. My father obliterated.
There is some food.
We have icy rocks in our chests. It is hard to find reasons to keep going.
Then we have our children. It gets cold at night. Some will die still.
We wait for something. More death, perhaps. I kiss my brother on his face.
The same sun rises. We somehow convince ourselves that it is the way of things. A bold survival.
It’s going to be fine.

We watch the sun go down.
In silent wealth. Bleeding desires with torniquets heavy.
It’s a dull and terrible life
without satisfaction.
We are rarely blessed, always it is never enough.
Misery. Dull and rich in a house far away from the hot pulse of some other life.
The same sun rises. We somehow convince ourselves that it is the way of things. A bold survival.
It’s going to be fine.

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