The Wonder of it All

This intimate proposal of the wonders of my being

This calculated leveling

Inches and meters and miles, swelling in controlled circulation

Here, i rest beneath the quiet of the morning

This sensory swelling of the fate at my fingertips

This unburdened conjecture of what the day will hold

In quiet and serene reality I feel myself lost

In the moment

And all there is to hold is the holding

And all there is to taste is the taste

Of a million flashing lights

And downtrodden faces

But if

I rise to the occasion

And greet the morning like a friend

Perhaps it will spare me the grief and decay

Of waking

So on I trod, delivered

From the ideal of the night

That all is lost and losing

Dead and dying

Faded, fading

That perhaps this rising sun

Whose Light I have forecome

Will awaken a new truth within me

That all is not lost

That I, even I

Can face its coming onslaught

Of curses on my tongue

And blood on my hands

Perhaps I can rise to the occasion

And truly see

The wonder of it all

The wonder of it all