3am
the Reapers happy hour
and the sturdy finger of fear
pokes in my
sleep deprived eye
once again
snatching the breath
I desperately
scramble to retain
it’s the hour of
sweet dreams
and bad conversation
shallow thought
and deep inhalation
sent backwards
as the sickle moon
shines his wry smile
over the shadow drawn corners
of the stopped clock
why is it HE never tires
in the wait for tomorrow
Deeply clever. Loved the line 'as the sickle moon shines his wry smile'. Made me shine mine own.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think this poem is brilliant.If you get the time read 6 A.M.