In this changing time, we hope that this poetry feature of “It’s Raining Sun” by Isabella Johnson, which will be featured in the Prism edition in process, gives some comfort and beauty amidst the chaos. If you ever feel called to share your art with Prism from the heart of this worldwide event or if you’d like to speak to us, don’t hesitate to reach out via email or social media. Much love from the Prism editorial staff.

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It’s raining sun

Trees are born when light dies

I am ocean young

Thread undone

Raining sun

Behold this King of Broken Things

Midnight Lion,

Dawnlight Tiger

World’s burning

Blackened ferns like skeletons

In the whites of his golden eyes

In the whites of his shining eyes

His coat slashed diamond mines

And the monarch’s purple wings

In the depths of an orange sky

In the depths of a silent sky

Who are you, really?

All the years, one so weary

Tears that only strangers see

Who are you becoming?

Who are you becoming?

Moths still die

After transforming

Little by little by tender little die

Scorched by frost

Burned by ice

Fall into the sky

Rain down light

Ray of sunshine or

Bolt of lightning

I am this ray

I am this bolt

It’s raining sun