The Sun

The Sun


The sun pierced through

the now naked trees in the early morn

Leaves gone

Fall succumbing as winter approaches

And yet the piercing sun

spreads warmth on the birth of the day

Reflecting thoughts

like a prism in a telescope focuses

in perpendicular directions

Hollowing out spaces through

the now naked trees

Beams of light holding left-over shadows

Gone in the blink of an eye

Intoxicating the senses

Squinting against the piercing sun

and yet longing for the rays

to touch the retina

Rays from lightyears past

that travel to the future.


Bruce Levine


Bruce Levine is a Maine-based, award-nominated poet whose work frequents Ariel Chart.


  1. without sounding combative i think the best art is a dash of dazzling simplicity versus impressing everyone with new ideas or college words. fine job, bruce.

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