“Why do people harp on about the beauty of the sunrise? It happens every day with tedious regularity.” – King Louis, The Musketeers.
It is cold.
The rushing air
Pricks the skin
Like droplets of dew
Crystallised.
It is dark.
The world is quiet, the earth’s rotation
Stops.
Fumble for the bedside lamp.
Blinded.
It is quiet.
Even the crickets hold their breath
and every beat of wings
or heart
echoes through the silence.
Bare feet shuffle across freezing floorboards.
Arms shiver and eyelids wage war.
Mouth set in a thin line.
Breakfast is an unassuming affair
Beneath an artificial light.
A glow on the horizon.
The sky is red-rimmed like
Eyes without sleep.
A hint of yellow.
A tantalising taste on vision’s edge.
The world baths in molten gold
The colours once faded
Bask in contentment.
The sky lights up
Without a witness.
Inspired because recently, I have woken up far too early, far too many times.
lothloripen 