Lip Service

I rose from the dead on a quiet Wednesday morning to enjoy the sunrise.
I sat stealing in the blue
Wanting not for a moment longer than the last flickers of the lightning bugs.

The music play on through the background, championing a somber mood.
I let a smile fade from my mind and on to my face.
A peek at what might be in store if I were to let myself be freed from the echoes of patterned feet and whispers.

The kiss of gun metal mufflers hum in the distant and eat at the rising sun.
There's no better lip service than that of a jeep coming back to life at a red light across the way as it makes its way into the warm tones of a late August sun it reverberates on the pipes of cool grey clouds above.

There's no better lip service than. No better indeed.