4 In the Morning
At 3am you become your own philosopher, categorizing
the different genres of humans and wondering
if you fall even remotely close to anyone on the spectrum.
You debate with yourself the meaning of life, again,
and then regret everything you accomplished the previous day.
5am, that’s the breaking point.
The sun climbs out of bed, and chases away
the comforting lure of night and all dreams of slumber.
The damned birds start peeping and you curse and sigh,
watching the room change colours
until you must get up to join the others.
But 4am, it’s the gaping time of day
that even the insomniacs deny.
As if night took a deep breath and forgot to exhale,
the silence is quieter, the darkness more pure.
You hide under covers and stare into emptiness
trying to make something of black space
but your mind remains impossibly blank.
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