The early morning light always looks so different to me.
It’s angles and tones are softer,
And the shadows slowly creep away,
Hiding in their corners and thickening.

The early morning light always looks so different to me.
The night is usually my domain.
With its cool air and calmness,
I feel my mind open,
And the words and ideas locked inside me find their way to sweet expression.
The light I have comes dimly down,
Or sits stark and unnatural.

The early morning light always looks so different to me.
Other than the quiet padding of my feet on tile,
And the waking tweets and twaddles of the birds,
It’s quiet, but not lonely.
The air fills with possibility for the day,
Opportunities for growth and discovery by the light of day.

The early morning light always look so different to me.
Seeing a new day begin,
And the Earth renew itself,
Gives me a new hope for the future.
That maybe one day,
The fog within my own mind will clear,
And the new day will come shining with a crisp new light.
I will stand there that day,
In wrinkled pajamas and with hair in my face, stomach growling,
And watch as the new day begins sharp and clean,
And the shadows slowly creep away.