The Shape of Murder

Photo of Mike Rumbi, by Mike Rumbi on Flickr

From the Sun God you acquire,
Desire.
But one that is at a distance.
And in between you and the thing you love,
There is a wall.

Sunflower, you must be like the water
And flow around the wall,
To reach your desire

intact.

From the God of Death,
You lose your own breath,
Up close and personal.

In between you and the thing you love,
is a thing shaped like divine
murder.

A corpse cannot desire,
and a Sun God cannot empathize.
Mostly with a corpse.

And suddenly you are a prisoner of lack,
Just as fast as you are free of want.

Sunflower, you are the water
Before and in death
Flow within your banks, shaped like your own
murder.