Again Awoken

The brisk morning air nips you where exposed

As your breathing softens to such purity.

Your grand view of life just awakening,

Puncutred only by the steam rising

From thick black potions

And the burning of your cigarette. 

They remind you both that

You are alive

And you will die. 


The dew rising off of the wild grass

Makes merely sitting

The most personable of experiences;

At least for those short minutes. 


For whatever drear your must endure,

You at least had one moment of the day

That was purely yours. 

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