5:17am. 

The beautiful moment just as the sun is starting its ascent, the sky burning with orange, red and pink. Half of the world behind me still deep in inky, darkness and half ahead eagerly ready to draw breath.Playful breezes run around me in short, wispy bursts, begging me to stop and play.

Below, the ocean thrashes against angry, jagged rocks in thick, white fury. Her anger is strong, unlike her coy encouragement only moments before.

It is 5:17am. There is not a sound that can wake me, nor a force that can shake me as I stand in my euphoria.

Sirens still scream but are losing their temper amid the groggy darkness, and as the policemen shout, their words stay tangled in the night behind.

She is quiet and I look down upon her limp body, twisted and broken.

Police dogs strain angrily against their leads, spitting and snapping for me.

Feeling a sting in my eyes I realise I am crying, and as the wind continues to bully me, I allow myself to break just a little bit more.

 

 

A poem by Rich Harris. Harris Harrison© 2015

 

 

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