Tell Me of Your Dawn (Advanced Writing Workshop Timed Freewrite)

Tell me of your dawn.

Mine is the most spectacular of processions. From the cold, hard horizon rises an endless array of dazzling songs of light. Whites and blues join the melody of yellows, oranges, and reds. The grandest lights bellow deep alternating hues. Others harmonize so brightly they become one glorious chorus. All while, ribbons of celestial clouds dance across the rich black stage—their soft gracious limbs extend out amongst the procession. It is a magnificent thing to behold.

Inevitably the parade becomes an escape. The oppressive lid ushers them below. Dark and featureless, it devours their notes and leaves only silent indifference. An icy, graveyard of stillness. The barren landscape lost. The very space between dies.

Share the parts of your night.

I can not recall it, but I sense these things were once different. Could warmth once have existed? Could this tomb of immovable landscape have flowed? Could it have thrived? Could something have eclipsed the glory of the dawn? I can not recall it.

I know I am losing myself with each heartless night—my song falls softer with each heartbreak. I wait. I long for your response. Once I knew you. I sense I love you. But now, I only know of you. And that is becoming not enough.

My body is unmoving. A lifetime has passed since it danced. Inside my limbs, the weakening call to move is met by comatose rebuttal. Muscle, tendon, and bone languish. Flesh plays the corpse. Only my eyes betray the life that beats still. At dawn, my eyes open wide. Often, tears choke but never rise to the surface. And at night, in that graveyard my eyes press closed.

That is when it searches me out. It haunts me.

How splendid are your halls? Describe the wonders that fill your palace.

The smallest spark persists within me. In my depths, it is cradled. I sense it was a gift from you. Such precious colors flicker from this faint star. Its warmth draws me closer. I follow deeper and deeper hearing its hushed song. Could it be like abundant waters that have receded into the depths? Not gone, but absent.

Tell me of your dawn.