The morning air rushes to my lungs
A reset, a refresh, a rehash of oxygen from yesterday's daze
I inhale the newly misted mint song
It's intoxicating, a shiver in your veins, pinpricks from dawn's haze
Light stretches and lays carefully on roofs, on treetops, sanctuary in canopies
Cats take in the warmth, dogs cozy up by the road, the early birds twittering
The people are up, some with a purpose, some simmering
The sun greets down at the world, and parts the darkness with ease
Serene, the scenery descends upon the passage of time
We wake up from our dreams; of tiptoeing ballerinas, of skeletons that climb
Faded, the visions we see as we come to waking
Blurrily wash away the sleep dust, and now we're aware of what we're wasting
The cause of joy stems from the roots of disheartenment
For we ideate of lost causes that we want to make real
When we wake up, we forget what we dreamt
The morning takes away the dreams, but it doesn't mean it steals
Maybe we wake up to greet to our demons
And live a day to make our dreams
Not dreams
Anymore
//k.u.
YOU ARE READING
The Quarantine Book
Poetry"--the stillness of isolation, the blazing aloneness, the rich moments with loved ones, and the sole solitude of the person. The rumination of a bored writer, a reflection of the months, a reaction to the silence and loudness of life. It's a methodi...
