Magic of my Mornings

Magic of My Mornings

I have always longed for the mornings—

that sacred hush

where my soul rejoices,

precious and unspoken.

My coffee waits,

as does the silence.

I do not ask why.

I only know I ache

to awaken to another,

year after year.

It feels like a kind of lust—

yet freed of every desire,

free of chores,

free of the world—

as though hidden hands

caress my soul.

And who can fault me

for wanting to dance with mornings?

Even before butterflies stir,

my words rise as prayers,

silent prayers for you

to find your own garden.

A place to cherish life,

to build an altar

just for your soul.

Where birds sing only for you,

where your melody returns,

and your wounded spirit

finally mends.

—Gulten Dye