This poem is mainly a warning to actively solve our own issues and not just petition a divine being for assistance.
Far beneath an empty sky, surrounded by nothing but space,
Banished from a splendor that two broken arms embraced,
Stopped in place to wonder, eyes fixed firmly on the sun,
She stares at some magnificence; perspective long undone.
Never will she wince or look beyond its constant burn,
Not with neck forever bent, head locked and skyward turned.
Should her hands clench tighter, still set on something lost,
Will they just grow weaker as she readies to exhaust?
Heels ground into the dirt, dug deep enough to scar;
Her toes absorbed in heat; legs cramped and further marred;
Knees prepared to buckle; lungs lost to normal breath;
Her chest alive and beating to forsake the ease of death!
Would not something stronger succumb to far less strain?
Or span a bridge of mercy to this comfortless domain?
Nothing beyond a constant warmth and strength to further struggle,
Misplaced human hope to push some weak and weary muscle?
Never will the night take hold to break this warm lament.
Only mortal legs could come and save her from descent.
Because the sun will always pulse, absent of emotion,
Throbbing just in tandem to this calm and cloudless moment.
