The Stubborn Sun

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

A man, a desert, and an uncertain horizon.

Submitted: November 20, 2017

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Submitted: November 20, 2017



It is the world's end and I am alone. 

I linger on the edge of an uncertain death as the wind whispers in my ears the same old tales, tales of men of misfortune born in scorching deserts, always seeking a new horizon. Long ago I saw these men too, watched as they squinted their eyes and stared tirelessly into the sun. Yet I'd been ordered not to stare directly at the sun, and so I obeyed. 

Soon these men began to walk. 
Soon they were reduced to mere dots in the distance, swallowed by the same horizons they once longed for. And I am here now, alone to watch my world end, wondering what's become of those men. Are they still alive, or have they withered somewhere along the way? Perhaps I must now walk toward my own horizons instead of gazing at them from afar, for when the earth beneath my feet cracks open and screams of humanity emanate from within, I will have no choice but to run, regardless of where the answers lie. 
And so I walk, albeit with shaky strides. 

After I take the first steps I feel a tremor traveling through the earth's spine. Fear echoes in my heart's chambers, ordering me to stop, to find shelter, but I suffocate it beneath layers of false bravery and keep my pace. 
I can now hear buildings I left behind crumble to the ground. I hear my childhood screaming for my return, saying that he would die without me, that without me the Big Nothing would swallow it whole. But I turn a deaf ear to the ploys of the past and keep my pace. 
I hear the sky behind me split open, and through the narrow slit a final cry begging me to stay. 
And I let the voice linger in the background until it fades, until not even a single peep can be heard from my past. 

I walk for what seems like one endless hour without turning back. The darkness is fast approaching, and I must keep this pace to always stay a step or two ahead. Along its path it must have devoured all that I once held dear, perhaps to make a point of how fragile and vulnerable such attachments can be, or maybe to make me feel insignificant, scared. Yet the more I become aware of this weakness, the more boundless my love grows. Thus in spite of this darkness, I will double my speed; in spite of this darkness, I will swallow life in its entirety, walk down all its paths, traverse all its peaks and valleys. 
And so I will run toward my horizons with death at my heels and a stubborn smile upon my face, blinded by the pale king in the distant skies. 


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