WHIPS

Time sits Immortally charming on its throne
Wondrous like flower of the holy spirit
Tasking suns to open morning gates
Caring not for celebrations
Mournings
Or indifference
Nor dawns thrown rudely into the past

II
Suns advance to bosshood
As time progresses
Melting the weak to flea for cover
Heating the poor to cooking
Just for their cooking
Riding the horses into evening
And being tossed in the past
Like an unwanted wrapper from a delicious meal

III
Evening enjoys the debris of the sun
Just for a while
And feels the whips of darkness
Which sacks comfortable beings to rest
Only to rule
Until dawn arrests
And rule the shortest
For another light to toss it aside
Like an unneeded cloth

IV
Time is sure too just
Bowing not to lust
Never forced to eat dust
And never stopping to rust
How envious my thoughts scream!
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2016
Photo Credit: Google pics