Gleaming Sun - Forging Song
Head turned east, sunflower self, every first morning, every first day.
I'm no good at resolutions. Too easy to forget, even easier to want to. I'm no good at conjuring the words that will build me a finish line, or at mustering the will to run towards it. But this, the hoping, the breezes at the birth of dawn, the slow color change, the gazing at the horizon: i love it. Waiting, at least, I'm good at.
Distant sunbeams open up the clouds, making space for this year's awakening light, but It is not here yet. This molting sky, every first morning, every first day, i await.
I'm nothing but rough edges hiding in the fading night. This first morning, this first day, will You illuminate these edges?
A spot of mountain melts away.
Sun-lances pierce through the entire landscape. On Your morning, On Your day, Your warmth comes bursting full of desire, O Gleaming Sun, eye of time itself, glare at me and make me into the future.
Such scalding light, dyed in fresh memories of fireworks against a snare night-sky, a playful ostinato in crescendo and it's here. It's here. I hear it, it drummed up an entire world's worth of whispers of dreams and shouts of intentions, a festival of morphing nostalgias, the tintinnabulation of countless laughs, the resounding of infinite hands clawing at newness, and of infinite bodies jumping for new day, such overwhelming, scalding light resonates, reverberates through me and my rough edges, such singing warmth: Forging Song, smelt, make them into blade, reshape me with the sharpest hunger, and I'll heave, and I'll feel the emptiness, and I'll pant and ache, but I'll grasp, but I'll devour, and savour the sweets and the bitters, and then pant and ache and do it all again, with such sharp and cutting hunger that I'll forget that there can be life without craving. Because I've gazed, because I've sat through the changing colors, because I've hoped, and I've witnessed it, the birth of dawn! so i'm good, I'm good now: I don't need to be good at waiting anymore.