Four in the Morning

It is four in the morning

and the spectre of yesterday

has barely left us alone.

Tomorrow is yet to come

to be today,

so we sit,

in the dark

on our own.

 

There are no arms of comfort

to chase away fears,

no covers;

we’ve abandoned the bed.

So we sit

and we wait

for the day to break,

all alone

with the cries

in our heads.

 

Hope is a word

that seldom is heard,

before light

makes horizons glow

and the speech

that we hear

before birds take the air

is the sounds

of the restless unknown.

 

Before

the day’s formed,

before plans are conceived,

while the night

keeps its grip

on the sky;

we sit

and we wait

for the new day to break,

while the dark

has its way

with our minds.

Sanity comes

with the rays of the sun

and reality

sets up in stone,

but in space

between days

all safety’s betrayed,

as we sit

in the dark

on our own.

 

HG -2016