Sunday, October 9, 2016

3 am - A Poem

You're never more alone than at 3 am.
when the cold wraps around you,
no matter how many blankets you hide under -
Because it's not the cold of skin and bone, 
but the cold of the soul.

When your only companions are regret and nightmare
And they huddle close to you, and push the world away
And Death sits on the foot of your bed
It's too late for yesterday, and too early tomorrow
Too late to sleep, but too early to wake
Too late to live, too early to die.
You're never more alone than at 3 am.