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Rated: E · Poetry · Psychology · #1440857
Ironically enough, this was written at three in the morning when sleep was a pipe-dream.
4 am comes at the strangest of times.

That void between the land of the living and a darkened world

God himself reaches for the snooze button

My prayers reach the ears of a sleeping Divine

And tickle the dreams of My Slumbering Lord.

Even at midnight I see the reality of time itself approaching

4 am walks with a swagger unseen

And a confidence earned only through years of practice

Conquering the Working Class

And welcoming the Irresponsible Youth.

A pang of guilt hits the back of my head

Like that first jolt of electricity to a Condemned Man.

Can you see time? I sure can.

It looks devious

And hungry.

I imagined 4 am being much more lonely

After all, who wants to be up then?

Would He not be more grateful for the company?

Apparently not.

Like a drunken con man in a seedy bar off of the Ave

He smiles that smile.

I see not parted curled lips

But anxious teeth.

How could time consume?

Oh right

Time is always consuming.

And 4 am is just better at this game than most.

5 has taken an air of responsibility in his Old Age

And 3 still dominates the Young at Heart.

Gentle guiding the next generation into their first All Nighter.

But 4

Smiles that smile.

And I see not parted lips

Not a welcomed gaze

But hungry eyes

And anxious teeth.
© Copyright 2008 Lovechild (david.thompson at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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