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Daybreak

It started with the horizon.
A thin, orange border that emerged from
The apex of the skyline.
It was a thread of orange
That carried the weight of an everlasting blue,
An overbearing heaviness that seemed
Almost suffocating,
Submerging celestial entities under the thick, rich, ultramarine,
Until everything fades to black.

But this thread of light
Is a bright, yellow light;
A pariah under the palms of its predecessors,
Ostracized over the course of a hemisphere.

How harsh, you say,
How unjust, for this tiny piece of thread,
To uphold such a large burden
Upon the minute of its birth?

Well, let me tell you that nature’s children
Must all endure a trial,
As infant turtles must trek across the gull-infested beaches,
As particles of coffee beans must sift through the white, padded filters,
And as stars must endure the burn of hydrogen fusing into helium,
There is always a trial
That precedes an extraordinary feat:
Whether it be reaching the ocean, the coffee mug, or a stable state that illuminates the universe.
Without the challenge, nothing is truly alive.

So think of this, as you watch that thread of light,
Watch as it weaves into layers of orange that
Eventually stitches into the deep, cerulean quilt
And swirls in pink, purple, and yellow hues,
Celebrating the success
Of overcoming the obstacle of
Nighttime
And embracing the success
of,
Daybreak.