Sometimes you wake to a refrain. The pulse sparks
and blood itches. Dawn echoes and whispers hymns.
A lyrical surge lodges in your spirit,
ascends, peaks in formations
and visions.
This surge breathes, speaks
in brittle breezes–
“Morning.”
Sometimes you wake to a refrain. The pulse sparks
and blood itches. Dawn echoes and whispers hymns.
A lyrical surge lodges in your spirit,
ascends, peaks in formations
and visions.
This surge breathes, speaks
in brittle breezes–
“Morning.”