I don't know why
The Sun rises everyday
To kiss the mourning Sky,
And when clouds come,
Threatening tears
It sends a ray of light,
To brush the sorrow aside.
But at every dusk,
Sky turns its face,
To the idol of the moon,
And a million little, tiny stars,
That never could be
As brilliant as the Sun.
And the Sky itself
Is blotted out
By iniquities and lies,
Trying to keep them
In the dark.
Yet every morning,
The Sun comes back,
Forgiving and healing,
Piercing through the fears and sins,
Erasing them.
Doing what the Sky can't.
Using her,
To bring light
To the world.
