Early Morning Porch

Early Morning Porch

 

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

The still of the morning before the engines roaring

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Fall is creeping in and all upon us

And all around us the storefronts are closing

The people are scared and starving

Their scars are worn not embraced

Their scars are like road maps of life

Where they have been

Where they were going

And how

The day has not yet been stained by a course of events that have transpired

                The thoughts sit and linger

As the coffee gets to brewing

The thoughts will flow through the pen and onto the paper

                It is nice to be up with the sun.

Silence fills the early morning air

Birds are chirping far off in this still morning air

Echoes of train brakes grinding scream the alarm

No cars or trucks blaring horns or revving engines.

No, for in this hour the quiet is deafening

The smell is comforting

The feel is inspiring and calming.

This musty mildew filled air relaxes a mind fraught with thought

                It is joy to be up with the sun.

All this concrete resides and cracks

If it had a voice I wonder what it would ask

The many feet which have trod its façade.

The many years it has sat in its place

The walls

The stairs

The curbsides even they have a story or a conversation.

The sun slowly rising with the day which a course of events have not yet stained

                And have left me in comfort being up with this sun.

The day has not yet been stained by events that have transpired

                It is nice to be up with the sun,

Re-sounds like the trains brakes four blocks away,

Or like a record that gets is stuck to play.

These words play in my head like a movie or a song

Over and over again I see them and hear them

Over and over again I think

Over and over again I wonder.

I sit with coffee in hand as the wonder turns to ponder

                And the ponder turns to pen to paper.

Here lie those words from that chain of events.

Herein lies the thoughts on folks less fortunate than i.

Whose lot in life is a slow change to which sometimes it never comes.

Shoes with worn holed soles

Souls with worn old holes

Mirrors are shop windows

Sleeping under bridges or beside them

Near train tracks or rivers

Suitcase toting sharp dressed men

Making decisions for folks who haven’t changed in months

Tell me the sense?

The day has not yet been stained by the thoughts of men

                And still I will smile with the comfort of the sun.

I regress from previous thoughts

And detract no statements said through said thoughts.

Instead, I shall dive deep into closing my eyes and listening

To the buses and vehicles

The highway’s hum

And the occasional distant sirens,

Or just the pure uninterrupted silence.

The slow walks and chirping talks

The meandering and sneering

The loudness and blaring

They have not yet come to pass within these early morning hours.

The day remains silent as events have yet to occur to stain the day,

                And I sit with the sun as it is nice to be awake in this hour.

A stain can be good

A stain can be bad

A stain you live with

And a stain you remove

But a stain always stays.

You can be rid of it but you always know where it was.

There is no shame in this

There is no reason to be morose or angry

The day remains in this early morning hour

Still and quiet and waiting

The day remains

As simply the day