This is a poem about sunrise.

This is a poem about watching red and pink respiration finesse the base of the horizon, with eyes closed knowing that this is all there really is.

This is a poem about holding someone’s hand or arm or your own hand or nothing and the rush of morning pours over you.

This is just a poem about sunrise. This is not a poem about anything else.

This is not a poem about a first date, the fact that you hate someone you used to love, getting snubbed by your crush, rushing to see someone who you haven’t seen for ten hours and now it’s almost eleven, heaven-sent individuals or hell-bent residual mistakes.

This poem is about the feeling you get getting up at home or elsewhere carefree and free to appreciate the elation based in the sun and encased in it’s run along the tips of whatever it’s framing. It’s the same window with the same view but the difference is you. You’ve seen every sunrise but your eyes are never prepared for what they share with the morning. It’s about the first warming rays of the day erasing the night’s decay and playing games with your levels of vitamin E.

This poem is not about oppression, about how the possession of wealth has stealthily been divided among society so that while we prioritize money it’s funny that so many don’t have enough, or about how tough it is to live the American dream if you didn’t start out sleeping with riches.

This poem is about 5:00 AM, when you’re awake and don’t have to be, or you do have to but you happened to notice that below the blackness is opening up an orange hue and you forget how tired you are and that the stars are fading just that the trade from night to day is amazing and the blazing entrance makes you remember that it might not always be just you and the sunrise but it is always you and the sunrise.

This is not a poem about anything except sunrise. It’s about standing on the handrail of a second-story balcony thousands of miles from home with the smoke from your Black & Mild getting in your eyes as you strain to see the sun come up over the L.A. skyline. It’s about sitting on the shore of a secluded mountain lake alone at home with the water lapping the fog wrapping around your ankles and being thankful for everything in existence, which to you right now is this sunrise. Sunlight goes much deeper than the eyes, it finds your center, and everyone must be meant to arise a little bit earlier. 

Our worlds revolve around our daily lives, but each day evolves from inside a sunrise.   Wake up.

By McKinley Lukes
RIP 1/18/2010