Poetry

Morbid Sunlight

written by: Mike Basile

Sweat runs down the body with haste;
precious drops he's loathing to waste.
For lack of water is a grave issue here,
where any moment dehydration is near.
He runs his hand over his head
and feels the flakes his skin is to shed.
Falling away, little bits of himself,
like when a gust blows dust off a shelf.
The pain is endless; under the Sun he bakes.
He can hardly breathe; each part of him aches.
He calls out to scream, but no noise is heard.
The throat so dry, that he can't utter a word.
In silent torment he waits for an end,
for none offer a hand in helping him mend.
And the heat never relents, so he wilts away,
lies himself down, and begins to decay.
And as he lies, he stares up at the Sun,
the source of his bane; what will have him undone.
And as his life ends, he sees in the Sun his life.
Realizing that all his time, only caused himself strife.