The golden sun that rests its body on
the mountain crest, a land, a place
to be lived, to die on. How often do
the clouds cover and hide the
illuminating sun.
Thank you for reading my writing! I hope you will return in the future!
Writer in San Francisco, CA

Slid into heaven
Thanks to raven wings and bones
It is a dark room
Scattering of beads, thunder
I wake in the morn
poem written in Tanka form
The golden sun that rests its body on
the mountain crest, a land, a place
to be lived, to die on. How often do
the clouds cover and hide the
illuminating sun.
Thank you for reading my writing! I hope you will return in the future!