Unwelcome

The sun didn’t know it would rise to such a day. I didn’t know I’d see so much light through the clouds. Yet I don’t feel it is bright for me.

I’d paint it with black.
I’d pull streaks of ash up to the stars.
My face a shade of Mars.
A fine brush to knock down the walls.
A thinner one to hold the roof in teeter.
There is color in my eyes.
Silence helps it drip to my fingers and off.
Red as oil.
Blue smoke darker then a lake and settling in the lowest just the same.
A cover to hide the pitching flames.
Devour the grass where my feet are planted firmly in pigment from my eyes.

The sun had no idea. We would have never known.