This is the dark dawn, the stars still hanging on their strings,
Swaying slightly in the breeze, pulling the tides with a feeble thread
Lights that dangle reflect in the silent seas
Their dark depths welcoming the attention
Little pools of congregated sycophants
They pander to the woes of eternity to be released from this incarceration in merciless night
The city lights shimmer as they touch the sky
Imitating the mists of dew encrusted sunrise
The hours fade as minutes trespass upon their graces
Overcome by the lack of momentum that the day holds
This nothing happens so fast
The trees find solace and find me running
The wind rustling my unlit hair, their roots tripping me in their freedom
Their fingers chasing me, hoping to rest their gnarled knuckles within the tangles
The wilderness is growing and people's eyes are wakening
And their senses are confounded as their eyes see no familiar sight
But that of artificial beacons that blaze in their rooms
Or the ashes that still carry a faint glow from their previous exertion
There's a match that flares, breathing in the air current
Hurriedly scouring awareness before it scorches their floundering fingers
And nothing is seen from the window, except more curtains being snuck open
Pale noses poking through the fabric, dark eyes blinking in their confusion
Hoarse little voices meeting in crescendo wanting more sleep
The day has not come
Day has not come
This is the dark dawn, the chorus of the angels fallen
No man's land is waiting for the borders to become clear
Abandoned in an abyss, in a void
Singing in distant lands unknown and unseen they are left to wonder
What any, and all, of this means
My ears are cold and I tug the collar up on my jacket.
I'm used to cold nights and cold mornings.
The gloves are still hiding in my pocket.
I am reluctant to put them on too soon.
As my feet fall upon the world worn surface
I hum to my lonely tune, knowing others might hear my whisper.
I fancy I can hear the world breathe as it enters this forlorn morn,
And still my legs carry me along these lost streets, never faltering.
I need no sight to confirm that this is my way home.
The silence is painfully loud
Two more steps and I waver
The humble beginnings of perfection begin to rise around me,
Music written in the air, a song performed in the dark
Heartfelt, unbroken, intuition living in the night,
Guiding modest fingers, so much beauty gathered in those strings
Pulling the tides and those bright, twinkling beings
There, where I know the corner must have stood
I hear a soft tap of a foot and I can feel the violinist with his eyes closed
Playing out the hope and the freedom and the desperate disposition of the dark dawn.
