Railing at the Sun

Day lives
sighing its heat
from quarried rock

And dies,
skies burning red,
like pyres of money and plastic

"We have been poorer
in the past" - Grandmother had said -
"our footwear, leaves

I have fed my sons
starch mixed in water
as I have fed you spoonfuls of milk"

Yours is the insidious burn
brazen and loud, of a boor
you, sun aren't worth even a curse

What do you earn,
you employee of time?
Will you arise richer tomorrow, fool?

And who will care for you
if my dark lord opened his eye
to forever take away night?