Pains of the Sun

Who cursed the Sun
for all eternity
to witness all the pain
the blood spilled underneath?
How horrid must it be
to hover over tears,
to shine so happily
on the world of hurts and griefs?
Does it ever pause,
hesitate to rise?
In its weakest moment
does it cover eyes?
No, it always shines,
even in despair.
Sentenced to remember
it is always there.
The giver of all life,
which we love to take,
and its precious love
we burn on our stake.
But it forgives conceit;
otherwise we’d burn,
or we’d simply freeze
deprived of priceless heat.
We are not the masters,
it simply chose to serve,
the One we always count on:
the Sun we don’t deserve.

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