Blind Poem by Jordan Crider

tell me how the resting sun looks so serene,
skip the description, not another comforting scene,
because the star escapes, and i lie awake,
while I'm sleeping,

tell me how the clouds choreograph a dance,
pink flurries ballet with the flaming sky,
a pirouetting dream, not as exciting,
as the last citrus glow,
that stabbed the milky marsh mellows,

take a picture, capture suspended time,
remember with a reminding sigh,
pick a lonely wall to decorate,
make sure there's no forgetting,
that dawn is the same as the sun setting,

focus on the creeping shadows,
stretching the the rolling hills and softening the cliffs,
they try to enhance the innocence and,
give truth a chance,

tell me how its time for the darkness to bleed,
into our town so we can satisfy our need,
to be revived and after we close our eyes,
but the sun isn't off, i weep under my sheets,
an 11 hour difference and i want to curl up and die,

close your eye lids and think,
about the famous bright blink,
was it something like magic or just,
another dull shade of green,
is it time to awake or is it the sun setting,

try to understand what the setting sun can do,
as it falls from the sky revealing guilt,
i hope it reminds as it burns you,
as it burns you,
as it burns truth,

see the orange sink to the bottom of the tree,
leaves rustle was it gravity,
that plucked it from its hanging branch,
for all the world to see,
is it the dawn or is it the sun setting?