We are all creatures of the sun, yet he is the captor

who burns us, scorching our bones until

we rise

where ghosts dapple skies

shape shifting and restless, thrashing

in still air

storms: the misty chains that claw our hearts

release

and we slip down father's face

embracing his pulsing organ

some are lost

basking on veiny tips or absorbing chalky dust

feeding their parched lips

so much depends on us

blood splatters war

over a few petty miles

our sympathy

makes us almost human

but we are not as foolish

flames burn

seeking glory and oxygen

drinking us

as we watch them

victorious

no one has seen, sees, or ever will see

this world. Our world.

but us, for we

are the creation

and blood of history.