Morning glory.

The silent echo of the all but empty streets

whisper in a constant beat.

As the street lights dull to a muted haze

and people sleep, in the beds, where they lay.

Lonely skies that illuminate death, losing the fight

as the earth resets and the sky becomes light.

Birds singing for their morning feed

surviving through their most basic needs.

The silence broken,

as the world is woken.

A united front of human life,

death to the night,

with our metaphorical knives.

The silence has gone and been,

the morning glory by some was seen.

The world awakes

As the new day breaks.

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