The sun is rising from her boundless bed,
The backs of my eyelids are burning red.
Drops of fragmented light swim through the blind.
Welcoming it, morning wakens my mind.

Carelessly floating on the crest of a dream,
Dancing the line between real and make-believe.
Early morning, slowly I open my eyes,
In the night the air materialized.

Thrust open the blinds, let the fog encompass me,
Let the dense chasm embrace me, let it free me.
Quickly silence my head and heighten my senses
As more and more of this heavy air condenses,

Leaving drops of dew on ev’ry flower,
Smelling like an approaching shower.
Affable birds chirping heavenly tunes,
A viscous fog cleverly hides the moon.

A sense of peace lingering in the air,
I can’t help but feel it everywhere.
It’s in the veiled rising of the morning star,
And in the song of a bluebird traveled far.

This morning is like a painter’s canvas,
Filled with possibilities and purpose.
With every stroke of its fateful brush,
It fills my heart with an aesthetic rush.

I’ve witnessed the majesty of a pearl,
Sitting here, watching the morning unfurl.
It’s done something it did not intend:
I’ve realized I never want it to end.