Poet: Robert Raymond, 18

This is Raymond’s first year participating in Louder Than a Bomb. He is a senior at Northside College Prep High School.

Wrestling the Sun
The sun soars
through the sky
on its road west
while I glide
to the east
a road 30,000 feet above
cars like ants
mountains like anthills
and cities no larger than dots on a map
and I peer out the double-paned window
to find clouds enveloping me
hiding these ants, these anthills, these
dots on a map

but they fail to hide one thing
one great, mighty, magnificent thing
resembling a lion with its auburn mane
through this fog unfamiliar
I catch the sun’s eye
and it glints in recognition
in nostalgia
of the music sung with me on summer
street corners
and suddenly the wall of fog opens
and the sun roars

they say you can only get so close
to the sun
before you burn up.
I disagree.
because I have stayed up all night
to wrestle the sun awake
and I have witnessed it walk across the Lake,
light reflecting off the water,
so that we could share morning coffee
So even though they said I would burn
up if I got too close,
I have defied science
Because I am as close to the sun as I am
to a brother.
and it has never burned me.

So I peer out the double-paned window
and smile with the force
of a summer day in February

The sun and I,
We exchange our “How are you?“s
and our “It’s been too long!“s
but I can tell you, I, at least
I don’t really listen
Because the sun is as omnipresent
As God is supposed to be
Because the steady beat of the sun’s paws
as it glides east to west
is the silent metronome
to which life sets its rhythms
Because the sun will always be there.
So we exchange our “Let’s Get Together Soon!”
because that’s what’s supposed to be said

We continue soaring, gliding
one road west,
one road east,
back-to-back on journeys apart

and I take some of the rays
from that sun’s auburn mane
to sustain me until next time
but now I wish I had taken more
because soon after that chance meeting
the seemingly-permanent sun did not rise
and has not risen since
and this time I can’t wrestle the sun awake
but I’ll listen closely
and maybe I’ll hear the final echoes
of the sun’s last roar.