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 evíry 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 canít help but feel it everywhere.
Itís in the veiled rising of the morning star,
And in the song of a bluebird traveled far.
This morning is like a painterís canvas,
Filled with possibilities and purpose.
With every stroke of its fateful brush,
It fills my heart with an aesthetic rush.
Iíve witnessed the majesty of a pearl,
Sitting here, watching the morning unfurl.
Itís done something it did not intend:
Iíve realized I never want it to end.