Morning.
-
Warm street glow,
Of the rapid-running dawn,
Claiming the once-grey clouds,
Hanging limply in the orange,
Slightly melancholied, sky-dome.
-
Arms in an outstretch of
Unabashed embrace, to greet
Father sky's festive colors,
Rained down, amber jeweled facets
Of ourselves in the slick, reflecting
Streets.
-
Syrupy gazes in the quick-rising
Of the new day, as we awake
In beds not our own,
On a day that belongs to only
The swift, fleeting feet of time.
As our Earth moves in some languid hurry,
All along the blushing streets.
-
Like an orange, the sun pops free
Of the horizon, Pulled along by Helios,
That golden chariot racing across
The new light. Faces turned to
See, in sleepy splendor,
A new day,
Birthed from the ugliness
Of what was yesterday.
-
Glistening in the dew
Of tender trees leaves, our eyes
Cast merry looks along the line
Of the new, fiery dawn.
-
Sun hangs, in heavy solitude,
Imposing the bright flames
Which lick so, at the facesOf the waking ones, and the trees,
The windows,
Who so grace the sun with his own image.
-
Street lamp flicker in the distant night,
As we dance in the jeweled rain
Of this day, new and still smelling
Of the night musk, from which it came.
Arms held out in joyous welcome
To this, most gracious of births.
-
Like a glistening orange,
The sun bends
To place a fiery kiss
On my lips.
