And Not Get Washed Away - Poem

And sunken in the cherry sands A sleeping sun awaits, That hiding cannot find it's soul And drowsing learns to hate.

The bloody sands are ripe with dew, The sun in shadow sits It tosses as they lengthen And rots within the pit.

And newly washed with blood and tears, And newly washed with clay, And newly washed with bloody years, And nearly washed away.

Shadows lengthen and light does grow, They must exist together. The carmine sun shall rise today Through bounding hills of heather.

And washed with tears, and washed with blood And shaped from hardened clay, The sun reforms itself each morn, Born anew each day.

And newly washed with blood and tears, And newly washed with clay, And newly washed with bloody years, And nearly washed away.

It sinks each night into our dreams And on them it does feed, But are our dreams more love or hate And which one does it need?

Awash, afloat, with naught but hope That comes to us each day We do our best to turn the tide And not get washed away.