after the crack of dawn

The morning.

A relative time of hate and love.
A constant game of touch and go, hit and miss.
Coffee consoles me.
Caffeine is my solace.

Retreat is not a possibility.
The sun already lures the rest of the day to begin,
Although she remains behind clouds.
Another sip of sensitivity.

I no longer share this time of day with old friends.
My father now sips his coffee alone on a different shore.

Morning people are warriors.
They dare to smile when others still wipe the sleep from their face.
They dare to move when others still feel paralyzed by the night.
Morning people speak, and the rest of the world does not listen.

Outside, under the clouds that shelter the sun, I find my kin.
So I sip my coffee and join them.
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