Morning on the Fringe
In the hush of morning, when the coffee shop whispers,
Shadows dance into life from the cradle of night.
A symphony of survivors stirred by the first breeze of day.
A promise of refuge where misfits and dreamers can feel safe.
In the cool glow of safety's womb,
We find solace from the gloom,
A fleeting moment of belonging,
As the day's chorus starts unfolding.
A smile, a nod, a silent cheer,
We exchange with those who hear,
Our echoes in this transient space,
Bound by threads of time and grace.
But as the sky turns pink, so does the tide,
The sanctuary's peace divide,
Chatter fills the once hushed air,
Our solace lost, we can't compare.
Blessed are we, in shadows' sway,
To have a place, a moment's play,
Where anonymity is grace,
And time moves at a gentle pace.
So we cherish this sacred space,
On the fringe of life's grand race,
For within it, we are free,
In ways the world will never see.
