The Rising Sun Of Another Day

You'll never see it,
The Red, fiery Sun,
The way you'll see it with
Those same eyes,
Which will too, never see
The grass dancing in the breeze.

While everyone else
Puts the blame on the one
Who is the most obvious,
There is hope that you,
The only one who really matters,
Can understand the predicament.

Seeing the red, fiery Sun
Will not aid your hungry
Little stomach, nor will
The dance of the grass,
Provide you the warmth,
Which is stolen by the wind
Which ironically gives them motion.

All that can be promised,
Is that prayers will be offered.
That an angel will come
And shower you with the warmth
And joy that you
Have missed out on.

But for now,
All that can be promised for you,
Is the Rising Sun,
Of another day.