Morning

Many have made their muse of you.
Your silence, sometimes almost crippling,
Your colours, sombre yet loud,
Bursting through the trees, yet
Not moving a leaf.
Poets have pondered
Singers sung
Of your beauty, your mystery, your life.
You have been the theme of paintings
The beauty of a day.
You have been hoped for earnestly
And you’ve been filled with tears.
You have been someone’s solace
And someone’s despair.
You have been many things bundled together,
But you have also been silenced.
Supressed by the sound of horns and engines,
Clouded by smog which makes your face uncertain.
Poets, musicians, writers, artists alike
Jump into their cars and speed up the road,
Hoping to find some perfect place where your light
Falls perfectly.
Hoping to find inspiration.
Your face has been the face of change old friend.