The Skin Summer Wears

Sitting on an empty beach, empty cocktail glass in hand,
watching the sun come up from the deep dark waters.
My eyes burn with the light, and my head is drifting high,
and I feel so at peace, so free, that I have no sons or daughters.

The sky is clear and saturated in color, but there’s darkness in it’s glow.
The waves crash eternally, but humanity is a dying dream, broken promise.
We are blind creatures tearing up all the world, for some crass illusions.
No way to stop it. Call me a sacreligious prophet, a proud Doubting Thomas.

 And I wish I’d go up in ashes as the sun climbs into the sky, sunlight snuffing out
all thought and fear and yearning for peace, just turn me into dead dust in the air.
To go back to the sky and the clouds and the cooling rain and the light of the sun.
To let all this emptiness fade out and be gone, be the skin the summer wears.
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