Grey and cold...a chill upon the early morning air.

An orange hue, pink warmth spilling across the grey ground,

Rising like a mist to color the sleepy sky.

Within a tiny hovel sleeps,

A girl with messy hair, the color of sun rays.

The air lightly warms and whispers a morning song.

The coo of the morning dove, the chirp of the sparrow, the squawk of the peacock.

The world gradually awakens,

First sluggish,

And suddenly filled with light and song.

She opens her eyes as the rays greet her with their light warm touch, and they fill her eyes with the light of a brand new day.

 A brand new day,

A myriad of possibilities.

But what lingers on her mind, the moment her wild mind begins to wake?

What gently pushes her to meet this morning air?

This brand new day.

A war scene reshapes itself within her mind,

All blood and gore and cries of dying men.

Sometimes it's the sensation,

The muse...the fantasy...

Of soaring through the sky, upon a reptilian back, the clouds brushing soflty upon her face.

Sometimes, she wakes to the feeling of utter sadness

Utter lonliness, and utter..disparity.

But...not her own.

Sometimes she wakes with a start, a dark shadow lingering in the dark corners of the house,

Stalking, taunting, screeching, leaving her covered in goosebumps and shivers.

Sometimes, on a brand new day, she wakes gently, calmy,

With brand new thoughts and brand new musings,

Nothing following her from the night of binge-reading.

Nothing following from the dream world.

This girl with messy hair,

She wakes to dream again.

She wakes for the mid-day musings.

She wakes for her wild imagination.

And once she sits behind the small table, in the small, sun-lit kitchen

The world inside her mind has come awake, full swing, and traps her within its wild wonders.

For this...for this she willingly awakens to the brand new day.