What Brings the Morning?

A poem that questions the origin and continuance of life

What Brings The Morning?
By GL Morris


What brings the morning?
Merely the finish of some arcane slumber
Or is it more wondrous and complex a deed?

What plan of process exists for the dawning?
Of each different emprise we often proceed?

Who has the positive bosom?
Is it the hero with unending passion,
Or could it be somebody fresh we despise?

Is it the infant embraced by staid chrisom?
Or someone more temporal with sapient eyes?

Who harks the herald?
Someone sufficiently inclined to purity
Someone familiar with peccancy hard?

Where is the justness and who is its master
Some sober critic, or some surly bard?

What hex brings forth misery?
Some ancient erratum our fathers beget
Or even misfortune engendered by hap

Or maybe the wrath of some phantom of bitchery
Enraptured by virgins ensnared in its trap

Then there is happiness, fleeting and rare
Unknown to the masses generic
Who measures it out, who decrees each his share
What brings the morning?