Martyr of the Sun MAG

January 4, 2011
By Anonymous

She ran toward the sun.
All her life she ran toward the sun.
Even at night she ran toward the sun.
Even when mountains of devils
Piled upon her back,
She ran toward the sun.

She saw one of her children
Shrouded and put in a box
And buried in the earth
After four bloody tires
Squished him
Into three pieces.
But she ran toward the sun,
Even though she couldn't see it.

She ran toward the sun,
In a foreign country,
Where she mopped cheap floors,
And vacuumed synthetic rugs,
In middle class houses
To make a living
And feed a crippled child,
Then saw his body,
Death's Christmas present.

But she ran on toward the sun,
Trying to smile,
Hundred pound weights
Made of rolled up memories
Attached to the corners of her mouth,
Pulling it down,
Her face wrinkled,
And her feet
Still carrying her,
In the direction where she thinks
Is the sun.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Oct. 7 2011 at 3:07 pm

This poem is real and sensitive it has a strong meaning





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