There’s a sense of reprise in the morning.
This is the sense I get when I wake and the room is in gold;
Like Minos had stepped in and pressed his palm to the wall…

And that is what I think about many things.
Reprise, reprise, (reprise), repeat.
Rewind and play it back. Loop it. Queue it.

When you look into the sky
for the fluffy white clouds that dot the blue
and instead see the gleaming yellow of dawn
or the storming gray of thundering rage,
there is no little sense of repetition.
You have done this before.
You have done this before.

And you will do it again until the sun decides it’s time to go.

Until the stars blow up, there is this cycle.
And there is a feeling that you are so small,
like you matter no more,
but there is also the feeling of belonging.

You are the small part of a large cycle. This is comforting.

You are contributing. This is comforting.

So when you sing the reprise,
pray different lyrics.
But follow the melody,
because you are still needed.