Unuttered

The sunrise was like an onion. Well, perhaps it could be better described as a kaleidoscope. The colours gently folding into each other. The clouds softly parting.
The horns and sirens, the squealing brakes, the oh-so-loud-bass-way-too-early-in-the-morning in the car at the red light. All these things are someone drowned out by the sunrise.
And it's a almost normal sunrise. No breath-taking shades of red or glowing hues of amber or vibrant violet popping over the horizon. Simple pastels around grey winter clouds brought my morning into existence.
And there there is a cry somewhere deep inside my soul. A prayer of unuttered words.