Breath

And I can hear them sleeping,
the dead of the night still breathing.
Transient and aware,
of the depths it will bear.
A beautiful despair and a beautiful mistake,
beautifully aware of the mess it will make.
Trialing through,
the sun strikes you.
Rays that daze the message ablaze.
Sparked from a mess, of
burning intent or words not meant to be seen or heard.