I kiss the tender sun
each dusk,
and nestle it in the
red rust dirt.
It sinks at a hazy pace
until it unveils your day--
my whispers and prayers
quietly lingering in its beams.
The rippling, colored light
will find you.
Will lift you.
Your sleep-laden lashes.
One day, I'll no longer need
this fiery messenger to whisper
"Good Morning."
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
I kiss the tender sun
each dusk,
and nestle it in the
red rust dirt.
It sinks at a hazy pace
until it unveils your day--
my whispers and prayers
quietly lingering in its beams.
The rippling, colored light
will find you.
Will lift you.
Your sleep-laden lashes.
One day, I'll no longer need
this fiery messenger to whisper
"Good Morning."
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