Wee Hours
The wee hours of the night,
my kith and my kin -
my own reality
separate.
A time not free from my troubles,
nor their reflection -
a place of self crowded with thoughts,
yet finally free from others, and others'.
The hustle and bustle put to rest,
there remains only quiet -
music if so chosen,
otherwise silence is welcomed.
I can do with less sleep,
but not without these times -
not without feeling what needs be felt,
writing what needs be written.
The wee hours of the night,
my rest and my reprieve -
my own reality
ever better for them.
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