The Journey To Morning


1. One.

The moon on a string,

Dangling from the glitter covered ceiling of the world,



The trees stretching upward,  

Their branches never quite twisting into the stars,



The clouds, like cotton candy,  

Floating carefree and unaware,



The ocean waves like children,  

Rushing towards the shore,



The sand beneath my feet,  

Sliding up between my toes,



My fingers warm with anticipation,  

As they claw the fabric from my skin,



My heart beating quickly beneath my chest,  

Far too eager to break free into the dark,



My skin exposed, tingling with excitement,  

Dipped in pale moonlight, as I leap into the waves,



The stale, tangy salt,  

Seeping beneath my skin, coursing through my veins,



My chaotic thoughts washed aside,  

By the ice cold blue as it paints the sandy bottom,



My eyes wide as I float along the floor,  

The moon a shattered reflection, from my hideaway beneath the sea,



Lungs bursting, heart thumping,  

I glide upwards, breaking the stars with my finger tips,



Pushing through the clouds,  

As the world stirs in its sleep, morning is on its way.

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