At dawn,
When the world feels young.
After the dark mystique
Of the blackened night disappears
And the sky of possibility resurfaces.
At dawn,
When the air feels still
And the solitude feels harmonious,
Quiet and submissive,
A rendering melody of peace.

When the small children dream,
And the blue-collared men sip their coffees,
Then smoke their first cigarettes.
It is the serenity before the cacophony
The absence of the calamity
Of the rushing traffic, the mindless chatter,
The tiptoed pattering of scurried feet.
The canvas before it’s splattered with paint,
The paper before it’s scribbled with words,
One fleeting moment,
A sudden embrace—
Virtue before the day awakes.