Morning glooms with dully glowing moon.

Unknowingly we’ll soon resume

our moaning, mourning drone of doom,

and pour our flooding sorrows through the door.

Implore our sore tomorrows 

to afford us more.

But long before our mumbled murmurs 

rumble forth--

A churning yearning worms its way inside--

And strives to find a brighter light,

Alive and vibrant,

lying dormant. 

Rise!

Childlike with spry beguiling smiles,

amplified by wildflowers

thriving, multiplying, all the while.

While, inside, we’re warm and fine,

so why not shine and look alive,

revitalized by the time 

the light arrives.

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Author guidance for This poem

exploring droning sounds and honing in on mornings slowly shining brighter lights on lowly life

updated Jul 29 '10 by Rac7hel