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exile of the sun
by Derek Kittle
i remember not
when the sentence was read
it seems that was a different person
now there is only this
left here in windblown exile
way down so far
that only with eyes
can i touch my home
up on the sun
a beggar of thoughts
forced to do tricks for my supper
dance fool my master says
do your jest
the one where you freeze to death
in the alley
no no -- that bores me now
do the one where you give up
ah what a merry game
better than the last
a broken spirit tastes best
and the greater the fall
the sweeter the meat
good
rest easy fool he says
i fear i shall never regain
my place on the sun
the climb is much too high
and where could i ever find the ladder
such a ladder you would need
to reach back above the sky
no -- this is my home now and forever
so i sleep as my master commands
resting in comfort on my soft hay
playing the part of the fool as i must
©2001 by Derek Kittle
 Derek Kittle is twenty-nine and lives in Auburn, Alabama, with his wife, who is a veterinary
student.
In past lives, he has been a lawyer, soldier, singer and cook. Besides
poetry, he also writes children's books, including The Adventures of
Travel
Tiger and Kittens in the Wild, both out this year. See more of his work at
his Web site.
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