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And Not Get Washed Away

And sunken in the cherry sands
A sleeping sun awaits,
That hiding cannot find it’s soul
And drowsing learns to hate.

The bloody sands are ripe with dew,
The sun in shadow sits
It tosses as they lengthen
And rots within the pit.

And newly washed with blood and tears,
And newly washed with clay,
And newly washed with bloody years,
And nearly washed away.

Shadows lengthen and light does grow,
They must exist together.
The carmine sun shall rise today
Through bounding hills of heather.

And washed with tears, and washed with blood
And shaped from hardened clay,
The sun reforms itself each morn,
Born anew each day.

And newly washed with blood and tears,
And newly washed with clay,
And newly washed with bloody years,
And nearly washed away.

It sinks each night into our dreams
And on them it does feed,
But are our dreams more love or hate
And which one does it need?

Awash, afloat, with naught but hope
That comes to us each day
We do our best to turn the tide
And not get washed away.

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