“The reality of waking up to the grace of god mercy”

Morning unfurls on the trembling pane—  
A tapestry woven in light’s quiet art;  
The cool air gentle as whispered refrain,  
Mercy tiptoes into the thrum of the heart.

I wake not by habit or clock’s cold decree,  
But by arms that have cradled my dreams through the night;  
Each breath is a benediction, a gift, a decree  
That my soul is still cherished, my burdens made light.

Sunbeams scatter, gold coins on bare skin,  
A soft hush of blessing before day’s busy din;  
The world, for a moment, is rinsed pure and new,  
Washed in the promise that love’s always true.

Outside, robins ring out their hymns in the trees,  
While lilies bow gently on knees in the dew;  
I rise from my rest, graced by kindness unseen,  
And gather the courage to begin life anew.

The reality shimmers, too tender to hold—  
That mercy is constant, not measured nor sold;  
It meets me at sunrise with arms open wide,  
The grace of God’s waking, my reason, my guide.

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