At The Gateway Of The Morn

A poem

Photo by David Monje on Unsplash

I stand at the gateway of the morn,

But the drowsiness of the night still pulls me down.

A pleasant cool breeze whispers into my ears,

“Come on, Sam. Get up! The day is here.”

An orange ball occupies the eastern sky.

Its golden rays are taking my spirit high,

Penetrating my heart, making the corners bright.

Emotions flow, and I begin to write.

In search of a joy that was long lost,

In search of a peace we’ve never got.