Leah Mieczkowski

Morning Poem
Leah Mieczkowski

Crisper air, I noticed, than the day before;

drafty breeze, prickling me with goosebumps.

Speckled around me are the pink buds

of blooming flowers, I watch

with a subtle scent of sweetness.

And zephyr caresses my skin, whispering

incoherent tales into my ears. Morning, I

wonder when the blaze of sun will reach me.

Torridity that makes June, June.

Two worlds collide: past a peaceful meadow lingers,

roads stowed with traffic.

Cars shriek their horns, I recall,

as I once did some time before I wound up here.

Early birds trill their morning song of May,

arrhythmic under one umbrella of harmony.

I picture a different field, at the brisker crack

of dawn, where one blanket

of fog shields grassland from a rising ray of light.

Morning, I will not miss you,

your dangerous grip of beauty on my neck

was never enough to replace it.

You will pass, like all things do,

and I await the unwavering painting of a star-

dappled sky.


Author's Note: A lot of my writing pieces are written on a whim--I just write when I get these bursts of motivation. It doesn't necessarily matter where--all I need is my computer, some jumbled ideas, and a Google Doc. I've been into writing since I was a little kid! Writing is a place I can go to whenever I want, and can dump my stress, problems, or general ideas into a casual piece.