The Tiny Black Spot on the Sun

"Theres a little black spot on the sun today (that is my soul up there) Its the same old thing as yesterday Theres a black hat caught in a high tree top Theres a flag-pole rag and the wind wont stop" Written by Sting

 

Harold carried his duties in a customary way, reading the newspaper and planning the duties of today

While the sun would begin to rise, the clouds would cascade in their usual array

 

The winds swayed the oak trees from east to west, and the blue jays hummed the usual tunes

And Harold feasted on his morning prunes

 

Every morning Mrs. Lark beckoned at Harold’s door with freshly baked pies

While crooning with her flirtatious eyes

 

Harold would then meander the rest of the morning with a cup of coffee and a shave, predicting how the NASDAQ numbers would pave

 

The afternoon sun then castled high in the sky, perfectly aligning to Harold’s house at ninety degrees

While Harold labored on the computer screen during his afternoon sprees

 

The clouds began to lax and wane into the lake

And Harold stretched and yawned from his work and prepared a supper at eight

 

Two hours dark, two hours before the closing of the day,

Harold read until his eyes were dressed by the shade

 

So were the typical days of Harold

 

Until…

 

The next day unfolded and the clouds unfurled, the sun enveloped the neighborhood in a haze

Harold woke up perturbed, somehow a little off, staring into the clock with a vacant gaze

 

Harold continued to carry off his duties in a conventional way

But the clouds in the east obstructed the view of the sun with the colors of gray

 

The winds swayed in turbulent directions, and the blue jays hummed a different tune,

‘Such a weird melody’ Harold thought, that he never had heard crooned

 

This morning an absence felt, Harold heard no knock from Mrs. Lark,

And not a sound occurred, ‘How strange’ he thought

 

Stanger still the afternoon sun eclipsed by an unfamiliar cloth

Harold puzzled a life he assumed he had wrought

 

Somehow by fates crossed, and mishaps chanced

Harold’s mind pierced by a two mirrored lance

Poured out did these shadows withdrew

From his head alien invaders went through

 

Familiar passings out of Pandora’s box crept monstrous things

Harold sighed in complete distress ‘How bizarre a world with unkempt wings’

 

Harold then knew no morning or afternoon delight

Nor had any evening born such a wonderful fright

 

‘Oh, how the blue jays feathers waft in the breeze

How penetrating the afternoon star must be!

My senses dilated,

That small black spot in the sun I now see’

 

Harold foresaw the world’s poetic agony

The routine of Harold’s days now performed in litany

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Reviews

[Andrew - Moon Fixer]

Very nice. This was to me, was border line story. but I see the poetry in it. The day to day events then something throws it all off. Something not expected. I know how he feels. lol.
Thank you
Andrew