by James Clay
Morning, look past the beauty, then what do you see?
As I lay here, patiently awaiting the inevitable breaching of darkness, a mere fragment of time, who's reoccurring manner is accompanied by an unbeknown significance to my survival, who's beauty unfortunately coexist amidst a fear of that unknown, resulting in deprivation of what little optimism left in my possession.
As I lay here, resurrecting prior thought, whose sole purpose are that of aimlessly understanding a darkness, who's presence daily by fears unique only to my perception, a darkness that lie transparent amongst a spectrum of color.
As I lay here, preparing my remaining sanity for another seemingly hopeless attempt to make an undistinguishable chapter of darkness that lie before me appear brighter, the morning sky effortlessly paints a visual representation of victory unknown to I, providing a vague sense of hope and faith equally essential to my prevention of an internal eclipse.