Poetry – Morn

Morning Sunrise


Darkness yields,

Cool winds blow,

Cross the frost.

A golden crest blossoms,

Painting the land anew,

the day breaks

Lonesome heavens

Bled reddish dawns

On mountain tops.

Woods shivered

ancient sunrise

in their slumber.

Rivers cried their mirrors

inside the endless fields

of white,

timeless morning came

to bring the temple

of dreams to life

once more.

Sacred light

filled all my scars

with warmth and love,

as our souls sung

by every angel

in the sky.

Blinded by the black

that was, the memory

of past grew silent.

And in that solitude

a whisper rose

above the stone

to call me home.


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