Predictable, but not promised, comes this morning,
Man waited by - the night
to resurrect his mortality
massaged by gifted light.
The meandering wonder, the morning’s rise
over the horizon’s lip.
To compromise the fainting moon
as the stars bow -- then dip.
Hallowed is the clouded glow
that breaks through by it’s fire,
to blanket, both, man and beast;
majestic arrival.
There! A message it comes to bring
speaking the language - Now.
(cradled in the Hands of mighty awe)
sings: “Turn, breath, live, grow!”
Coaxed by order it keeps it’s course
through the blinding glare,
“I’ve come to execute your sight,
I am your sun, still
I am here.”
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