Thursday, March 3, 2011


The sun will not be with us
much longer. The earth turns
our faces towards the suspended
moon—its distance, proof
of how bound we are to molten core.

The sun stays and we move,
a planetary revolution, and yet
the sun seems to betray our longing
for light and warmth.

We believe ourselves abandoned.

How simple is faith when sun
colors the horizon, moves
across the expanse, measuring
the hours and each breath.

What sorrow is faith, when even
the moon and stars fail to appear,
and we are exiled to night,
the broadcloth of our grief.

Pity us.

Our puny effort
to bend the light,
to rend the darkness.

Our belief in the body’s discipline and not
the perfection of corpuscles
we neither created nor deserved.

How small we are,

How futile our lives, grieving
the sun, when tomorrow
it will rise.

© Ami Mattison

Flickr photo courtesy of Boris SV


  1. So what the source of the cross this poem nails us to? Belief? Knowledge? Belief in knowledge? Belief in desire? Desire to believe? The illusion of centrality? Or simply these eyes, which are a charlatan's dowsing wand, incessantly shouting Here, no here, no here. The question you ask make me wonder if starry fraud is our high-water mark. Loved, it. Ami - Brendan

  2. "The sun stays and we move." This line really reached out and grabbed me. Simple, powerful piece. Loved it.

  3. maybe if it was not all about us...i mean you know the universe revolving around self...and all that...smiles. the sun will rise above, but will we?

  4. WE are very, very small, but still the sun keeps rising and we have to follow it every day, that's how life goes ... Lovely writing, creative!

  5. Please feel free to share 1 to 3 poems with our potluck poetry today, first time participants could use old poems or poems unrelated to our theme, Thanks..
    Happy Monday!

    Love your blog, your poetry is impressive..