Morning’s light not broken, still pitch black beyond the glass
The window’s act as mirrors where no outside visions pass.
Perhaps a time to ponder how I view my life and self
I reached for pen and paper which was stored upon the shelf.
Before I’d had the time to organize my thoughts in ink
My eyes began to notice hazy lines, quite dim and pink.
Reflections off the windows seemed to fight to stay opaque
Deep purple background silhouettes now follow darkness’ wake.
The sun had not yet shown its’ disk above horizon’s line
It’s glowing vanguard, chroma blues, not easy to define.
Cobalt, Prussian, Indigo, push back the Violet veil
Then Lapis, Azure, Robbin’s egg; the sky began to pale.
The sun’s first arc appeared as orange, like skin of tangerine
Then like a camera’s flashing strobe, bright hues of yellow seen.
The trees, once naught but shadows, now defined in grays and browns
The rising sun, now almost up, retreating darkness drowns.
My thoughts of writing, now forgot, the pen dropped from my hand
And chest swelled up from breathing deep, as dawn marched ‘cross the land.
A true and glorious sunrise which appeared upon this morn;
My soul flushed like the dawning sun, so glad that I’d been born.
By James Geehring