The Morning's Picturesque Beauty

I'm waking up and rubbing two blinded eyes, The crispness of the sweet-scented air in whimpering July Rapidly spreads by a benevolent wind that pleases, It allows me to discover by intent a sublime reality, Which is the morning's picturesque beauty: Does strong belief interfere with a sense of great friability? Nature can be brutal or pleasant, and yet it can fascinate Us, when it suddenly embraces each sense to compensate For the discontent left by a dreamless and unrestful night; What we hear amid those eerie shadows is the cry of a cricket! I distinctly revoke such repulsing and unenthralling nights As I wash their macabre images off with cold, running water; Is a better day coming, prompting actions that don't falter? Harm is done when pain is accepted and tomorrow frightens. In this morning's picturesque beauty, I could lose myself And wish that dreaming vainly detaches me from grief, not seeing any delusional mirage on the journey to happiness; I've expelled the vile demons that made me spew lies!