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Gioseppe Giattino

of

Fresno, CA, US

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father of the sun

by

Gioseppe Giattino

Distant stars and moonlight lead my path in the dark.
Where the fuck was the sun, our born star when we needed him.Without I have to look through the eyes of mischievous light, Because everything is shadows in the night.
Over roots I will stumble, into webs we will sleepwalk, these Pitfalls there for me as a reward to a young nights god. His retribution and atonement, his spite we take head on,Because the dark is forced to hate by the father of the sun.
In this madness lives a balance that manifests itself, like
Dawn and dusk each took a knife to let the sky bleed out.
In those two moments where beauty screams out and neither day Or night exists. We can all see two lights are needed for color to Manifest.
Advise to the wise for only they will head my beacon, "Ascertain A new benevolence for said dawn."
Yes from light you can hide in some fabricated night, and to your eyes And your soul itís all the same. But just once sit in that dark and make A spark as bright as day, unlike dark not all light can be made.
No the life giving rays that power us and make us change, as they Propel through billowing clouds to strike the earth. They are of a kind That canít be made sept in the mind.

A vision of creation, starting cycles
In all nations.

The sun burns down white, growing green, feeding red, reflecting off of Blue and forming you.
And as it dose it glows hot another difference we must have, how else would We appreciate cool.