They call us children of the Sun: the most high.. Cause our skins a lil darker..

But this is a half truth…if not a truth at all… Because I have distinct memories of resting my soul on the moon.. When it was the only earth that mattered…

And this earth was but a nascent sun…a prepubescent energy fresh out the womb…

As with my memory, the moon’s pinnacle is no more.. Only a vestige of a time passed… Debauchery– who knows? A kingdom come? A rulership gone awry….

Must history be fated to repeat itself… For I’m not prepared to seek another sun and make it my earth.. My fire burns deep but not that deep… Not that hot…

I’m yet to be freed from these demons… I can’t survive an apocalypse in this state..

I’m ill fated and unprepared… I’m too stuck in the present to transcend my past… Let alone attempt to rearticulate some semblance of a future..

My soul isn’t dense enough.. My light isn’t bright enough… My clay can’t be formed because the master mason has too many back orders to fill…my fire doesn’t burn hot enough…

Perhaps one day we will be ready..

Before this earth, too, burns out…