Inheriting the Sun

Her shoulders
They were the last refuge of her former years.
Only her shoulders made a stark contrast.
They were sun stained and golden.
True celtic blood showed through her shoulders
and the innumerable freckles shown through like stars.
The rest of her skin was a pure, cold silver
Created through the years of hard office life, late night drinks.
On close examination you could see her prior appearance.
For long faded and dull specks of gold rode her cheeks
The sun that once lived in her skin had gone.
But her shoulders still held that feeling
Worn and weatherstained, carefree
Memories of her younger years, hanging
For her flesh was tight across her bone
And the splashes of former joy were a dead light.
In old pictures she was full of colour and life,
But now her placid stance and achromatic appearance
Lead her to be lost among the piles of inane work.

Or so I had thought, but that day our air conditioning broke
I saw those glorious remains, the merits of her ancestors.
Like a pirate's loot that had been glimmering under the waves
She had never lost the sun, or the warmth.
And as distant as she was from her childhood now
Even the years that had bleached her face
Had failed to cast her into the shadows.
I followed her into the sun as she strode out
And I saw her completed after years of quiet ignorance.
Her ashen skin glittered in silver hues and her shoulders,
Blazed like the bronze weapons of early soldiers.
Even her normally mousy hair shone with the colours of Autumn.
How cruel the interior of city business was to her looks.
What had become of this land, that it would become like this?
Hiding the true inheritors from what they were meant to be
Putting them in dreary buildings, in flat grey cities
Selling off the natural beauty, and hiding the reminders.

How many centuries had it been since my people came?
These islands may seem small,
And I may have been born from them
But she had only moved here a few years ago,
And yet the sun here belongs to her, a foriegner.
And how I long for it to be my inheritance.
Her shoulders told the story of her ancestors,
And my pallid construction of Roman influence
Had begun her peoples plight, those centuries ago.
And I wanted nothing more than to conquer,
Her shoulders, more than her little pieces of sun,
Vestiges of her heritage, and blessings of this land.
I wanted what all men have sought, to have what we cannot.
For even if I captured her heart,
Her skin and her people were part of this land
I would only live as a vistor, a former conquerer.
Her shoulders shrugged just then
And lifted me from thought,
All had been forgiven and the sun was shining for both of us.