Morning
The sun rises once more
as so do I.
In the shower, I think,
“Today could be my last day,
Or it could be the beginning of some joy or triumph yet unknown.”
It could start with coffee and end with tears,
Or end with a kiss and the sound sleep of the righteous.
It could include a fruitful hour in creative daydreams
Or a wasted hour mulling past regrets,
Reveries fed by pleasant memories can steel the nerves.
For unpleasantries to come,
Encounters with the good and the bad,
The kind, and the indifferent.
Such days are the bricks with which we build a life.
And like all brings, they gain a patina of age that gives them character.
But this much is true—
This morning is a gift
That takes an entire day to unwrap.
So, welcome the morning and accept the gift.
It is the rarest of gifts: where in your choices determine what’s inside.
Unwrap.
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