A cacophony of similar sights and sounds, smells and scenes, that unfold before us as commonplace, such that we often take them for granted. The chirping of birds, the rooster's crow, and the incessant sound of alarm clocks, singing. We are ushered into action by these things. A new day is beginning. There are showers to take, clothes to iron, breakfasts to grab as quickly as we can. We are world too often on the move, and there is little joy in slowing down.
But oh, morning, ceaseless reminder of the wondrous beauty at our fingertips, ripe for the plucking!
Regal, dripping, in hints of orange and red. A canvas against our windows.
You are subtle, like the dew, announcing to us that another night has lifted, with your delicate arrival.
Even If when we do not welcome your coming, we are forced to appreciate you still.
Because you are the essence of opportunity. The gorgeous dawning of a slate wiped clean. With each morning comes a chance at stability, a new moment to correct errors of days passed. With each morning comes the prospect of satisfaction, as you are the first opportunity to squeeze joy from the day. We should bask in your sanative properties, potential juncture of rejuvenation, that we go too long without. With you, comes an offering, anew. It is a shame, how we fail to grab hold of it.
Oh, morning!! Transient portion of the days that we let drag along, in their monotony. I yearn to make you everlasting. To keep the feelings you bring, alive.
This is my morning.
Marcus Jamison, the Rare Poet
