“You took me walking through the town,
showed me the statues underground,
said just don’t they look in peace?
Sometimes I wish that was me.”

(In the) Broken Morning Sun
by me

The sun streaks across her skin
blinding truth until her eyes have to squint to see
morning bright like a lens flare bleeding across a scene
everything this gold in the end just goes

Sadness looks more like age in this light
so she hides her face under the crumpled sheets
turning away like she did as a child when the world felt heavy
disappearing into a self-imposed wishing state

He tries to pull her out again
writing her story on torn out sheets of line paper
giving her a new last name
as if that will change her

She never belonged here though
she never belonged anywhere
tethered forever to those big bright lights
chained to all their broken promises

But sometimes the sun breaks through the snow
Winter’s that seemed endless finally splitting in half
and he holds her then
warming hope into those misguided grey sky eyes

All those statues are dead now
can’t you seek that now?
and there are so many mornings left to break open
like Cracker Jack prizes and dime store dreams

Just stay here with me
hand in hand
fingers weaved into a promise
just stay with me underneath this morning sun

Above the Clouds of Pompeii :: Bear’s Den