Birth of Dawn

look down,

breath's thick in your mouth, 

drifting out like dragonsmoke.

the grass beneith your feet, 

damp with the crisp kiss of false dawn.

the air is like ice in your lungs, 

pins that prick all down the throat

a rustling of branches, 

and a chorus of warbling overhead

look up

sky is grey, the last star faded unto dust

streaks of cloud gather, 

at the very fringes of the frail darkness.

they bleed pink and gold, 

as the sky flushes a pale blue.

as the blinding orb scrapes the rosey horizon, 

only the  waking birds are ignorant, 

while time itself holds its breath in awe.

as the icy dawn is burnt away, 

by the glorious flame of morning's light