Cold Morning

The east sun rises

behind clouds of morning sadness.

Chilling to the bone,

the wind whispers through the twilight of dawn

kissing your skin with the betrayal of comfort,

similar to the voices heard each night.

But, oh, cold morning, in your darkness,

where is your majesty

that we may rise in light?

This poem is about: 
Our world


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741