Three in the Morning
standing in a dimly lit kitchen
with clean counters gleaming
the window plants bowed heavy
with fully hydrated dark green leaves
a street light a distance down the road
creates a pale cirlce of pavement
and there I can hear the echoes of each
moment at this point year after year
extending backwards through time
all those years of pain,
loathing and dread and fear
wrapped in overheated computer processors
empty cans
crying children
family and those that I loved
screaming into the night
at god
or at me
but this silence
standing in my underwear
alone
my god
thankfully
it’s all behind me
4 thoughts on "Three in the Morning"
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I appreciated this poem.
Thank you
the growth and light of the 1st and 3rd stanzas wrap so gently around the chaos and darkness in the 2nd
Great compression of years and events into this poem. You also give us the simple lesson: Don’t get up at 3 in the morning! The mind is not always ours at that time.