by Elelome
Website: Arwen Evenstar
Why does morning *break*, I wonder, lying here against the dew-wet grass. It seems as though the morning breaking means shattering the silence of the night with the birdsong of the day. Or opening the darkness and letting the light in, perfect blue sky above. My thoughts wander wildly this morning, turn into the canopy of sunlight fading from the stars.
I believe I will go inside now, and write a poem.
In my room, I seize a pen, and an old yellowed journal that was precious in the days of my girlhood. Pages at the end are still blank, and so I open to the back, writing swiftly:
Morning
Does it break
Shatter to pieces
All rays of dark?
(For darkness
Spreadeth itself
in rays, as does light)
Or does it come
softly, stealing quiet
with a lover's whisper--
"Come, sweet one!
We must be up and gone!"?
Or rather greet me
Like an old friend
"Good morning, dawn."
