A Beautiful Morning
The window creaks open but half,
A silence that does not last,
Young birds shriek as if aghast,
The old sigh if not laugh.
I lie in bed and reflect to myself,
The wonders that are present in dawn,
New sunlight begs my heart to fawn,
As if commanded by Apollo himself.
Sleeping flowers on terrace vines unfold,
The wind whispers a groan of early risers,
Like me they grasp at sleep like misers,
Bearing their own stories untold.
Reality in comparison seems an accident,
An unbeknownst agreement,
A compromise quite frequent,
With hazy purpose our minds are bent.
Absent is this fleeting pleasure,
From which I wake with fresh eyes,
Barely aware of my innards' cries,
I rise towards nature's leisure.
White curtains of chiffon drape gracefully over,
Elegantly framing the wondrous view,
With newborn sunlight streaming through,
An explosive effect, a super nova.
Is evoking passion nature's intent?
I can feel no stronger the emotion,
Trapped in my blissful joyful notion,
In a morning so beautifully without extent.
By Mahesha and Ahimsa Kissfield
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