A dull sun still burns the eyes

The lone man looked up to the skies;
Hand held like a visor, protecting
from glare, the clouds deflecting
few rays from the stare, besides:
A dull sun still burns the eyes.

He turns to look away, tries
to see, but the ghost still lingers
to obscure his shaking fingers:
To his hurt, the memory replies -
A dull sun still burns these eyes.

Rays still trace the swollen skies -
From the Earth, clouds protecting;
Mute beauty, his eyes defecting
to the sun, to avoid, besides:
A dull sun still turns these eyes.

The clouds close in, he tries
to re-feel the memory, it lingers
but even flexing angry fingers
cannot evoke the gods' replies -
A dull sun turned these eyes.

He cannot push her aside -
Beauty in the inherent residual
dulling of each individual.
To nature, he cannot be a bride -
Her dull sun, turned down eyes.