The morn begins without fanfare,
the creeping sun in silent rising
brings warmth to day,
and awakening life bleary-eyed,
sighs, as if to place dreams away,
to accept the stark reality.
Thoughts meander like river’s flow,
mingled dreams and day’s needs
in and out of consciousness,
like clouds passing by,
quiet words upon blue paper,
through eyes of drifting possibility.
And slowly the day finds clarity,
plans and expectations lined up like soldiers,
crisp uniforms and steadfast intent,
to face the day’s slumbered lament
as purpose rises to the moment,
yet another beginning.
Time ticks an endless beat,
and moments collide with moments,
past driven away, second by second
as life embraces itself,
and eyes see the constant array
In a crescendo of sound
life grasps hold of its daily beginning,
as opportunity musters strength,
and no matter what has ensued
is now pursued with ardor,
a knowing that each day abounds uniquely.
Morning is the gift giver,
the auspicious clean slate,
and each breath accounts a new depth
of possibility, as life moves on
with or without us,
as wisdom awaits in the unfolding.
Tony DeLorger © 2018