The morning light is unlike any other, it does not shine. Like the sun has another intensity besides luminance. It is no wonder the sky is blue. Is light truly invisible? Or is reflection stronger than its quake. I am here; my ethos. My gaze does not hesitate that I commend it to its juncture. Vibrance and presence , my mind is extant. My late sun rests as light touches its grace.
Take me to the edge of the world, where the sun is freely roaming outside the axis of zone, the meadow of obscurity. The long path to mirage. You can't tell if the sun is passing west. The colours change its' dream. From yellow to bright organs and pink, I stand invisible.
I chose to wake up slowly, with the rising of light, my length of reaction is with its tone. I see that I have to think. beyond my vision vacay allocations of tragedy. It is not near nor far, but gifted. In the sense that I see my predictability. My attention streaks moments of testimony. I am the before.
The resignation to the west is doubtful in its goodbyes. I remain in wonder of its path. it passes by the north as earth ends its story, a drop at the end of my sight shows that the sun is in the midst of my thoughts.
In an orchestra of just sound.
I am timbre.
I wonder if I need to know where I fit in in all of this. I stay alert to the state of the light. The opaque is so powerful in its capsule, I dwell a favour.
Later, I find myself occupied with something of significance.
Like drinking coffee and claiming life is amazing. The coffee beans are fresh, longing the taste of a reason to indulge.
YOU ARE READING
I Am Here, My Ethos.
Non-FictionLight is the idea of Time and Spatial Awareness. Yet, the bulb seems to flicker ever so often. An escapism book. The light at the end of the tunnel is a bulb. Copyright 2024 ©
