Mornings

I wake to the paleness of night
Before the sunrise, and the reign of light
I pierce the darkest hour
Of the moments that seem fowler
In the garden the gate closes
And so I’ll count the field of red roses
And when the soft morning rays open this wonder
On these souls God will ponder
Vines crawl unto the sun
And in my heart, all is done
I come fourth to morning’s presence
To the flame in the sky in every essence
I stare out the window to the rising reign
Dissolving the numbness, fear, and pain
Waking up to the mornings of light
Ending the darkness of wretchedness, and night