She is the Sun She is the sun rising in the east rousing me from the heaviness of sleep. Kissing my eyelids open wide with her light. Restoring my sight when I've grown blind to beauty, inspiration once again surging through me; a vigor vital to my sanity. It is her dawn that drives the shadows into the recesses of my room. Strips the gloom from my skin like soap. The suds lathered in layers that provide a thick hide of protection from the grime of the world outside. She is the sun that drives me like a bird to sing sweet songs of melody tweeting in the morning perched happily on the wire of love content and at peace like a cooing dove basking in the rays that fall down from heaven. Keep me not in the realm of night, but pour out your bright light through the dinge and dirt of my window, so I can see out into the meadow where butterflies dance fluttering in a weightless prance through the summer air. Because you are the sun rising in the east, and summer ceases without your amber glow. You are the deliverer of my winter, the melter of my tundra's ice and snow. So rise! Rise and awake me, Dawn from this shadow-land of sleep! Flood the riverbanks of my heart, and alight the forest of night dark and deep. Justin Farley
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