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
It’s a beautiful poem. 🙂
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