4 Am Poem by Edward Rogaishio

Grandfather struck a hard four
And woke me from a sound sleep.
Fortunately, drifting back into slumber
Was easier than most nights.
But then a poem hit,
And my brain woke, and went into high drive!

Wearily I looked at the window.
A three quarter moon was seeping in
Around the edges of the shade.
I lifted the shade and was flooded by its light.
It swept down over chimneys and roofs
Still wet from an earlier rain,
And was chasing mists rising from a ground fog
That was covering streets and yards
In secrets and mysteries.

Sleepy eyes blurringly reached across
A small square table between my bed and the wall.
My hand fumbling for pen knocked
A box of tissues onto the carpeted floor.
Glasses who knows where
I started writing on a small pad.
Inspiration flowed from the pen's tip
And even squiggled black lines
Across the table's smooth brown surface.

Enough! Enough for one night! I need sleep!
I reached for the shade.
The mists had transformed into silent ghouls
Rising from their graves.
I yanked at the shade its roller spring
Twanging in protest
Then rolled over and burrowed under blankets
While whispering, "Spirits and dead go home, go home.
Spirits and dead, go home! ".

Sleep was in the room but took its time finding me.
Finally a bright sun swept away what little sleep was left
And left me wondering when a next four AM
Would rudely shake me again into verse.
I sighed and greeted the warming sun.