The Changing Of The Sun

Poem By william upton

The most gorgeous day of Spring
Walking next to me on the Miracle Mile,
Sunday morning stroll to the house of the Lord.
With no clouds in the blue sky, there is something unusual-
Something breathtaking inside the silent sun-drenched morning.
Not a human sound within this still colored water painting
Of paradise.
Only the distant chirping of the birds who have become jazz masters,
Participating in this virtual tour of Monet's still life.
Hush-you can hear your own breathing competing with
Nature's complete standstill of all components.
The garden of eternity lies before -so perfect and so quiet...
A reverence in her atmosphere.
Church services end as they usually do
With souls enriched in Grace and hearts full of joy.
The return walk home still retains the magnificent silent snapshots
Captured like lightning in a bottle-still fresh, still alive.
Back home the door opens to a menacing 'one missed call' on the phone.
Suspicious curiosity wonders who would call at the early break
Of Sunday's blissful entrance..
It would seem that someone was missing the invitation
To the morning's impromptu garden party.
At 11 0'clock the voice on the message struck
Like a sledgehammer strikes an anvil,
Echoing the unbearable grief of a brother losing his brother...
Announcing his passing.
I took a breath to speak but no words came out.
The rays of the once brilliant sunshine had vanished,
Leaving behind the shadow of this magical meadow.
For one brief moment, Mother Nature blinked.

Comments about The Changing Of The Sun

Beautiful piece of poetry well articulated and nicely brought forth with clarity of thought and mind. An insightful creation elegantly crafted with conviction. Thanks for sharing, William.
Your poem strikes me as the most wonderful way to pay witness to your religious faith, If one of your goals is to show the truth and comfort of religious belief, you have found a persuasive vehicle in a personal story like this one which dramatizes faith in action. Milton wrote VIRTUE UNTESTED IS NOT VIRTUE. The death of a loved one certainly is one of those tests, and your poem shows how loss can lead to religious growth. But the part I found most convincing was the evocation of Nature at its most responsive to our human needs for companionship and beauty. The forest itself is SACRED, and that is fulfillment enough for me.
In the Italian sonnet there is a VOLTA or turning just past the middle, that is, a turning to a different perspective or subject. Well, this poem has one of the most devastating VOLTAS I have ever encountered. After some 20 lines glorying in the beautiful weather and the beautiful church service, the message of death of a brother hits with extra force. It seemed to be a blessed day, everything cooperated in increasing and sustaining the joy. Then - Paradise Lost, so to speak. Your poem makes us confront both sides of human life - and not flinch.


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