Breaking Dawn

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dawn is such a beautiful word to describe the up-comings of every day. But maybe it's worse than we thought.

Submitted: February 22, 2008

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Submitted: February 22, 2008



Colors burst forth into the sky.

Its shadows casting along the ground.

Letting the souls of many fly.

The greatest trouble of making no sound.


Upon which it grows so fast.

It rises on us from the past.

It's life and soul waiting heavily.

To us, its whole world is like one melody.


But it kills our day and our night.

It keeps on telling me I can never be right.

It dazzles me from to and froe.

But there were many things I did not know.


That breaking dawn is the reason I'm old.

And that there are not any things I haven't been told.

That desperately I'm trying to find a way to stay.

But its power and colors keep getting in the way.


Young and beautiful, it roams to the top.

Never to let you think you can stop.

It makes you grow older each time it rises.

What you can't have are not it's prizes.


It has no melody, no color or soul.

Like a bag of quarters in a paper roll.

It smiles upon us from up and down.

Don't you notice that you ever frown?


Through night and day.

It carries us away.

Thinking that it washes away what had been.

When really breaking dawn will always win.


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