Not that I think thats its good or anything, but its just interesting to get a snapshot of where you were a few years ago. Even if that snapshot is a bad poem.
As I stare into the sunrise, I let go of the dreams that I once held of my moon. I realize that the day is drawing near and the night that once hid me was vanishing into the glory of the sun. The darkness that surrounded me was no more oppressive and think but more like the smell of a lilac bush in full bloom. The stars began to go to bed and twinkled their last goodbye. I told them one last secret and my pain that was like a thick butter on the sunset was now being blown away with the dew of the early morning. The soft smell of daffodils wafted into my brain as the early morning rays laughed and played across my bare skin. The same rays that were so soft and gentle against my skin, were at the same time strong enough to burn away the cloud that fueled my anger and disappointment, and then there were the rosey colors of a new born morning. I could feel the sweet breeze of of hope flick across my brow and flirt with my eyelashes as the possibilities of all that lay ahead came to life with the crowing of the rooster. I lay in the same field that used to conjure the dreams of the moon but not the field was lush and green and fresh and bright. There was no where to hide and nothing to hide from. There was no getting lost and no reason to be found. The morning sun was gentle and complete. It took away the dark folds and replaced them with meadows and places to explore. With the coming of the sun, I also saw the coming of my childhood.
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