Brittany Lavallee
The Cycle

The light falls through the cracks,
tiptoes past my bed
and springs onto the ledge.
It’s self-proclaimed suicide,
It’s all a lie.
For the dawn breaks
every one of my windows
in the morning time.
Shining so effortlessly,
the noon sun stretches
and lingers above my head.
Glow of the setting sun
tucking itself
snugly into the horizon line.
And when the night falls,
you can hear the sun crash,
as a million little pieces
turn into the constellations.
I lay under my covers,
eyes open,
waiting to catch tomorrow’s sneaky rays,
to grasp them in my palm,
as morn arrives,
with a whisper
and dances upon my sleeping face.