a love for slow mornings

a love for slow mornings

I am a being in the middle of things

Existing in the in between

You’ll find me

Between the hours of the waking

Watching golden tears spilling

As curtains echo the remanence of the previous night’s breeze

I search for solace in shaky hands,

While the poems linger and the cup is still cooling.

I sip on potions of realism and romanticized realities,

Mummified in bedsheets.

I slip into the slow morning,

Settling into the day settling into me.

I caress chaos and calamity,

And hold acceptance tenderly.

I hide my peace between rigid routines and understanding,

Between counted breaths and uncertainty,

Between the shambles of the storm raging and this wretched attempt at stability.

I am a being in the middle of things,

Seeking safe havens in sunrises

With contentment in the day’s promising,

And an admiration for the slow morning.

Coming to life in darkness,

Before cascading colors paint the sky.

Waking early,

Existing within myself,

So I may watch the rise.