Dawning Sun

I think the dawn, speaks of angels.
But when I open my eyes in the morning light,
My glory speaks of ills.
In which it appears to choke my neck.

And when I lay my head to sleep,
The same hope of dawn,
It covers me.

You see, the sun, it has sharp knives
Which pierces you and then you bleed.
But you cannot see it because
It’s shrouded in rays which comes too quick
And shields its sins.

Impending doom looms upon your eyes,
When it is open then it strikes!
Three times, and you’re dead,
Waiting to be reborn again.

Written on the 22nd of November 2009.