The beauty of the morning sun on my face made me look angelic, my heart was warmed by the golden rays and everything felt alive and new.

Like a whirlwind or a distant sound of thunder, I heard a voice inside the heavy cloud of my thoughts, saying "God must be so beautiful".

As I closely observe how the big burning ball of fire slowly turning white revealing all the wounds hidden inside the darkest room of my heart I heard another voice or should I say a thought telling me "the storm will stay and you will face it".

I had hopes for a new day, I had ropes from back in the days. Dirty shoes and bloody hands, just in the morning and I was mourning with thousands of poems