My Sunshine

Like the previous poetry, this was inspired by another author's work, but has no characters or settings from the author mentioned.  It's also based on the song, "You are my Sunshine."  It's a sad little bit about a man that is mourning the loss of his lover.

Also, to any fellow Americans reading this: Happy early Independence Day!


     In an overcrowded graveyard sits an old man. His hair is the color of fresh snow, with only a few traces of it's original coal-like color. His back rests against a gravestone and his eyes remain closed as the wind ruffles his hair gently. The sun shines golden upon his upturned face, illuminating the delicate wrinkles.
     In the distance there’s the tinkle of chimes and he can’t help but smile at the sound, which is so like the laugh of the person he misses most.
     “You know what?” He whispers, “I dreamed about you last night.”
      The chimes tinkle and he opens his eyes to stare blindly up at the puffy balls of cotton that are floating lazily across the deep blue sky.
      “I was dreaming that I held you in my arms, but, just as I drew you close, I awoke as the rising sun touched my face.   Upon awakening I looked around the empty room. It took me a minute to realize that it was a dream, you really were gone.  It was then that everything came crashing down on me all at once and I couldn’t help it. I lost it. I broke our promise - I hung my head and cried.”
      Tears appear in the old man’s silver eyes, “Can you forgive me?”
      The graveyard grows still and silent as the wind dies down. No chimes are heard as the tears continue to flow freely down his face. As the tears fall, so does the sun.
      When the old man can give no more tears he stirs himself, slowly using his cane to get to his feet. As he looks once more at the gravestone he notices a small red bird that lands on the stone just as one of the rays from the setting sun falls there.
     The bird makes a soft chirp and flutters its wings softly, causing the sunlight to dance merrily as his scarlet wings take on the appearance of flickering flames.
      The old man smiles again at the sight of the chirping bird. Gently he wipes the tears off his wrinkled skin. 
      “Yes, I guess you do forgive me,” he whispers softly, his voice barely audible above the bird’s chirps.
      The sun maintains its steady descent as the old man continues to watch the flaming bird. When the last rays disappear below the horizon the bird spreads its wings once more and flies off towards the pinkish glow the sun left in its wake.
     Just before the bird is out of sight the old man presses gnarled fingers to his lips as a sign of farewell and whispers, “Goodbye, my sunshine.”
      Then, as darkness spreads her star-studded wings across the sky, he slowly makes his way out of the graveyard and to the car where his scarlet-haired nephew awaits.