The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.
delascabezas

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dawn treader

sometimes morning seems miles away from where you want to be;
sometimes it is the only thing between you and the black wall of dreams.
sometimes morning brings breakfast, steam, and smiles;
sometimes it brings shivers, solitude, and denial.
sometimes it brings rude awakenings, hung over your guts, eyes, and ears;
sometimes morning brings a workday, other times a pleasant reason not to bolt out of bed.

until that one time, when morning doesn't bring anything...
when sunlit beam or drizzly sky,
autumn's howl or winter's blast,
are no longer consequential...
only what you were doing, wearing, and who will remember

who says the sunrise
has no power?
apollo rules over morpheus,
and chances diana's bow away.

i have basked in that fire too many times
to not respect it,
to not revere it.

every time i see
the still dawn light birth break of day,

it could be my last.

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