Our Old Sun
Is our old sun as weary as we?
Oh--speak for yourself--as me?
Has the heat and constant turning
worn it frazzled? Is it just yearning
stillness in the dazed, bedazzled race,
churning in its one place in space?
Does it long for nonexistence,
to escape the patterns persistence,
to let go, wander in untested orbits,
perhaps explode into fiery bits?
Thanks to Nancy Erisman