Morning Crescendo

The wake to the morning, when eyes are yet adjusted to something seen everyday
Light that at a close could burn, easlily holds ones serenity
Calm sounds of birds talking amonst each other, yet vernacularly incompetent to us
Minutes pass, time moves in complexing way that if ignored will fly by without notice
The light radiates off our faces, bringing life to a semi-unconsious body
Those that awken should be happy, dwelling on a past that cant change leaves the body torn
As you awake your eyes now fully open, the world awaits your arival
Morning crescendo to nights diminuendo... -Unspoken voice :)