Dawn (A poem)

I sometimes watch the dawn from a dirty canvas
And envy the world;
Its ability to begin again without pain or pride
Free from the tide of emotion;
Adept in accepting the draining drive of Destiny;
Freely forgiving the darkness from the night before;
Filling a putrid page with sunlight and sanctity.

I look back on my darkness and decay and pray I had
Such strength.
Such strength to leave the past for the past and cast my pride
Aside.
I pray to the world to see through its eyes;
Through the scratches and scars to the seas and the skies
And then, from way up there, maybe I too can learn to
Dawn.