When the Dawn Was Done

So relaxed, behind delicate tones, somebody told him: “It would be better after a good night’s sleep and in the morning...”

But the Dawn was done and possibly never returning, getting used to darkness wasn’t suggested, thus it seemed like a missing warning.

Destined to have worries cluster, so much to learn, a night before there was no idea there would be a new point of no return…

He was expected to relay on hindsight on what’s right, lo and behold, being adaptable made remembering the Dawn the plight, the stole.

Fulfill the prediction, it’s done thus

he was like his atmosphere; he started to come up with a newfound recognition on what’s gone…

The interruptions were anticipated at that rate, winds blared like a haunting apparitional presence, intrusive to the innate.

Seclusion produced, that’s when fear got busy, being unprepared shown, and desperation got real loose.

How could it be, never sunlight pacing in the sky for him to see? Was it really no vision from there on, or true clarity?

What’s predicted: a mosaic reframed, including the cautionary and receptive, aligned with senses, familiarized the nights. He remembered the Dawn – deceptive.

It felt good, the closest to being cleansed – to have slept, dreamed, and imagined so nights were never forgotten then,

Unused to the next day now if it ever came, left him waiting to be enveloped in the positives of darkness again.