The morning belongs to dreamers.
Who watch the world come alive
Through sleep-blurred eyes.
Before the doers wake
As dreams are born
In heaven’s promise and coffee’s warmth.
Hidden light plays with shapes
As lack of motion echos sound
Sky’s puzzled pieces shift and slide
A dizzying dance
As wispy clouds whisper
Together. Then apart.
While doers still slumber
planets and stars glisten
as they shine on faith,
And hues of blues
Paint the day with promise
And with hope.
As bedroom lamps
blink on.
The world
awakens.
And dreams begin in morning’s light.
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