If people look to the sky and call it a painting (Making this world a fictional Dreamland), Then that must mean that I am part Of a beautiful world Where I can be anything, Including someone beautiful who is Always just out of reach
It is never too late Of an hour To enjoy a cup of coffee
Waking abruptly to a pink sky is like The World wants me to experience Something no one else will see Due to sleep Just so I can share it with them
Although it is not my journey to go on, I love the sound of an engine starting In the middle of the night from a Stranger's car
Have you ever known a heatwave so awful That you couldn't stop from writing about it And letting others know of the burden it gives?
Weary uttering from two; Smoke soft as silk fogging the surrounding; The light blue-grey of an early hour; Faint birds singing out to one another; And the crave for a morning brew. Yes, this is what comfort feels like.
There is something oddly satisfying About the chirping of birds At an early hour, Just before the dark disappears But before the Sun comes up
I, among many others, find peace In the Darkness that blankets my bedroom From the hours of one to five in the morning, For the entire World seems to steadily fall still; Unmoving, unwavering, and entirely silent Besides the passing vehicles that glide along the road In no hurry to get anywhere just beyond the... Continue Reading →
As the Sun falls, my pen rises