It is the sun

Who is this creeping’ through my window in the dead of night, I should be sleeping but my mind, as usual, has turned to thoughts belonging to a better man than I.

It is the sun,

You mean to say that I have worked through the inky blackness of night that scared us all as children and now the sun welcomes a new day and illuminates my troubles and woe for the entire world to see?

It is the sun,

The sun greets me after I slaved away through the night, it greets me like the wife I never had greeted her husband at the factory gates, they used to do this but thankfully they are too busy to worship men anymore and may have discovered that we are all still children anyway so what’s the use.

It is the sun,

The sun warms my face and shows passer-by my disgrace, my night spent creating and making something that no one will ever see because of my fear of rejection, yet if I showed it to people they will say they like it, these people mean well but are only saving us from a fall which will inevitably happen anyway, just from higher up on our pedestal thanks to them.

It is the sun,

Then I must sleep and forget these thoughts and problems, go to a land of dreams where I can be free, free from the world that I have done wrong in for so long, free from the torturous nine to five I cling to in the hope one day it will produce an ounce of happiness which I can then sell for I have bills to pay.

It is the sun,

The sun knows all; the sun sees us rise and watches us fall, day to day laughing away burning brighter when the conversation is lighter.

It is the sun,

It’s time to sleep.

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