Between a thrice crow and morning call,
Eyes awaken upon drifting clouds.
From a canvas swept clean by night’s hand,
A pathway is now born.
Like an egg cracking to release new life,
This day breaks with unimagined potential.
How will our road proceed?
Upon which mountain will we find ourselves?
And to which end will we find our feet resting?
Such is the hope that rises with each radiant beam of light.
Let us move between the trees,
And breathe in the joy of each imperfect moment.
Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.