Rise of the Sun

Where justice rings out in a lost yet familiar Grace

With every rise of the sun

I find myself unsure,

Of why my eyes even open,

To endure,

The smaller stories

In this longer-running show —

Where all the bad actors

Carry their trophies home.

Good morning to my ceiling,

The walls,

The window – looking out to a tangled mess.

I’ve come to accept that it’s meant

To block my view to the

Greater waves in the west.

But it doesn’t.

If I soften my focus

It’s here that oceans appear,

And authentic voices wake,

Where justice rings out

In a lost yet familiar Grace.

Wrapped in a frequency,

She delivers me

To a holy flood I cannot explain,

Except to say,

That Divine Law

Will reign.

In the outer-world script

I’m aware my lines are gibberish.

So I am cast

As the crazy one that makes no sense —

A target for the pain that remains

Hell-bent

On damning the rising seas,

While fear takes hold,

And binds them to the enemy.

Still, I breathe.


With every rise of the sun.

My eyes still do open,

And even though

I share your stage,

I know full well

That I am not the play.

I am the waters in-between

Every pre-determined scene.

I am the words that may disturb

The comforts of your sleep.


Consider listening.


I don’t know how;

I don’t know the timing.

But I know

The greater show

And the birth of a greater role,

Lie waiting in our wings.

© 2019 EM Meyer

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