Awake and twist sleep away in morning exultation.
Morning grass and morning dew and new morning smell
cling like delicate lovers to days’ early disposition.
Young eyes clamor for the sun that grows hotter every year.
What evil romance shows me to your door?
Your empty ethereal loneliness to most is
a convulsive rhythm, a scathing ecstacy to some silent wicked minds.
Your post-love lethargic drag begs me stay a little while
in the cool hymn of the soft-boxed morn.
Fine spirit shut inside, you are often teased to recognize
the false reason of disguise
that shadows untempered innocence and betrays unguarded romance
in favor of artificial smiles and flickering humanity.
Morning child, soft and warm,
justify my stubborn silence.
Let me earn my fidelity through your guiding touch and
grant my judgement wisdom.
I owe my senses to the dawn which chase our fortunes wild.
Our hushed romance bleeds the sorrow my eyes fail to see.
I will not borrow tragedy from the weathered celluloid
that fueled the egos of better men than me.
But morning fades to richer shades of pink and orange and gold.
And I’ll maintain my holy name and fill my earthly mold.
And the sun that sinks beneath me winks with the wisdom of stars that see
the banished doubt and the silent shout and the smile relaxed on me.