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My warm blanket feels so blissful,
the morning sun
offers a cruel betrayal,
I know that reality's
cold fingers will crawl
with monotonous detail.
My soft pillows are so comfy,
and time will slip by anyway,
the world outside
can wait its turn
as I delay waking up today.

©️Lizzie Bevis
I want to rise with the morning sun,
To fly in its glowing graces,
Well beyond the borders of this earth.

I wish to glide in the deep of space,
To run wild and free amongst these galaxies,
Way up to HD1 where I'll find home.
HD1 is the farthest and earliest known galaxy.
π‘Šπ‘Žπ‘›π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›' 𝑏𝑦 π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘π‘œπ‘Žπ‘ π‘‘π‘™π‘–π‘›π‘’,
π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘Žπ‘› π‘Žπ‘™π‘π‘’π‘›π‘”π‘™π‘œπ‘€ π‘œπ‘“ π‘ π‘’π‘›π‘ β„Žπ‘–π‘›π‘’.
𝐴 π‘§π‘’π‘β„Žπ‘¦π‘Ÿ π‘€β„Žπ‘–π‘ π‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›',
π‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘ β„Žπ‘–π‘›' π‘œπ‘“π‘“ π‘œπ‘“ π‘šπ‘¦ π‘ π‘˜π‘–π‘›.Β Β 

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘œπ‘π‘’π‘Žπ‘› π‘‘π‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘–π‘›' 𝑖𝑛 π‘Ž π‘™π‘–π‘‘β„Žπ‘’,
π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ 𝑖𝑛 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘šπ‘œπ‘›π‘–π‘π‘Ž π‘œπ‘“ π‘π‘™π‘–π‘‘β„Žπ‘’.
𝐼𝑑'𝑠 π‘šπ‘’π‘™π‘™π‘–π‘“π‘™π‘’π‘œπ‘’π‘  π‘Žπ‘šπ‘π‘–π‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘’,
π‘˜π‘’π‘π‘‘ π‘π‘™π‘Žπ‘¦π‘–π‘›' 𝑖𝑛 π‘Ž π‘ π‘’π‘žπ‘’π‘’π‘›π‘π‘’ π‘œπ‘“ π‘Žπ‘π‘’π‘›π‘‘π‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘’.Β Β 

𝑇𝑖𝑠 π‘Ž π‘π‘–π‘π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘ π‘žπ‘’π‘’ π‘π‘’π‘Žπ‘’π‘‘π‘¦,
π‘œπ‘“ π‘Žπ‘› 𝑖𝑑𝑦𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑐 π‘ π‘π‘’π‘›π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘¦.
𝐴 𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑠𝑒 π‘œπ‘“ π‘ π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘›π‘–π‘‘π‘¦,
π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ π‘Ž 𝑣𝑒𝑠𝑑𝑖𝑔𝑒 π‘œπ‘“ π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘™π‘–π‘‘π‘¦.

𝐴 π‘›π‘’π‘£π‘’π‘Ÿ 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛' π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘£π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘’,
πΏπ‘–π‘˜π‘’ π‘Ž 𝑠𝑑𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑛 β„Žπ‘–π‘ π‘‘π‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘¦.Β Β 
𝐴𝑛𝑑 a π‘ π‘Žπ‘›π‘π‘‘π‘’π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘¦,
π‘œπ‘“ π‘Ž π‘›π‘’π‘£π‘’π‘Ÿ 𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛' π‘’π‘π‘–π‘β„Žπ‘Žπ‘›π‘¦.Β Β 

𝑇𝑖𝑠 π‘Žπ‘› π‘’π‘™π‘¦π‘ π‘–π‘Žπ‘› 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑛',
π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ 𝑖𝑑'𝑠 π‘π‘œπ‘›π‘“π‘’π‘ π‘–π‘›',
πΆπ‘Žπ‘’π‘ π‘’ π‘Žπ‘šπ‘–π‘‘π‘ π‘‘ π‘‘β„Žπ‘’ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘ π‘‘π‘“π‘’π‘™ 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛'𝑠,
𝑖𝑑 β„Žπ‘Žπ‘‘ π‘˜π‘’π‘π‘‘ π‘šπ‘’ 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛' π‘“π‘œπ‘Ÿ π‘Žπ‘›π‘œπ‘‘β„Žπ‘’π‘Ÿ π‘šπ‘œπ‘Ÿπ‘›π‘–π‘›'
Even the simplest reasons, is far more than enough to
keep livin' to see another mornin'...
I wake before the sun
So I can watch it rise
While I sip from
The warm mug in my hands.

There is a book on my lap,
But I won't read it yet,
I'll have to wait for
The sun to come up.
This isn't what an actual morning in my life, but I wish it was
I journey towards the night
watching the light recede.
Awaiting me, an unsteady
dreamscape of losing
things and beings
and never finding them.

But, there is also the ocean,
of waves cradling me to sleep
with the lullaby of my name’s
repetition- marooning me  
from the sound of others,
the fears, anxieties to come.

Yet, my unconscious tugs me
towards the new tomorrow, forcing
my drowsy mind to count backwards
from sixty to one, until the gravity and  
heaviness retreats into the
light and life to comeβ€”

the awakening that  turns
the dark blue inside to light blue sky,
the rising eastern glow that is
the morning star affirming
to my eyelids that this dark life
was just a dream of my fretful mind.

Awaiting me, the to-do list of my morning:
the ritual of the toilet, scale, finger ******,
Psyllium powder stirred in water, catering
to my dog’s and wife’s love language of
gourmet kibble and Nescafeβ€” an  A.M.  life
measured out in watery tablespoons of love.

The cadence of my feet lives itself out in
thirty steps and half minute treks, a sacred
pitter-patter in rhythm with my breath that
allows the traumas of the past- the dead, the
cancers, the broken houses destroyed and rebuilt-
to exist in hidden memories and bad dreams.
Room temp black tea,
Jingling house keys,
Little whispers of morning trees.

Quaint feeling of tranquility,
Walking among the preserved fall leaves,
A small nip of chill in the breeze.
There's something about a Monday morning.
Wake up in the morning,
Grab my cap, tie my shoes,
Get in the car, can't wait to see you.
<3
Get dropped off,
Walk into the school,
Wait in the cafeteria for you!
<3<3
Wish you didn't forget your hoodie,
Grab mine, I don't need it,
Get some breakfast and go, I love you so.
<3<3<3
At the end of the day, no matter how mature I write I still am.
Harsh is the morning,
its promise still unspoken
a sea of toothpaste white
scrubs a beach not fully woken
The morning glory
Is not only my friend
It is my cool oasis

Reynaldo Casison
Love is like my morning coffee,
dark and deep, yet warm and cozy.
Steam that rises, a soft embrace,
a touch that lingers, in time and place.

First, the scent: rich, inviting,
like caring words with hearts igniting.
A gentle sip, a quiet thrill,
the kind that lingers, slow and still.

Too fast, too hot, it burns the tongue,
like passion’s fire when love is young.
Too cold, too late, and it will fade,
a bitter taste, a love mislaid.

And when it’s gone, the weight is real,
a sluggish step, a lifeless feel.
The world moves on, but not with me,
An exhausted soul, tired, unfree.

But coffee made with care, with grace,
it fills the soul, it sets the pace.
A steady hand, a patient art,
love, like coffee, warms the heart.
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