Reflections At Four In The Morning - Poem by April Avalon
All days are the same: morning, city, the crowd.
Life's not going forward, it's moving around.
And masks of all shades on those ignorant faces,
A few made-up stories in cheap street newspapers,
Sluts looking like stars, dirty queens of attraction,
Gross idols of so deceptive perfection
Are doors to the mind of the crowd, so hollow -
They hear the call of the dumb and they follow.
Now passion means lust, now freedom means violence,
Stupidity prospers. It's due to your silence!
The weak ones are searching for someone to blame,
The helpless would trade for a minute of fame.
A couple hearts broken don't cost a damned thing;
The hopeless romantics would give anything -
Despite having nothing - for love, non-existing.
We've made up this concept, as something is missing.
Believe it or not - I can cope alone!
I never wished someone to call me their own.
It's such a delusion that having you here
Will help me get over this common old fear.
What's frightening? Solitude? Fear itself!
I hide beside you when I fear myself!
But it is much better with you than the crowd
That never goes forward, that keeps going round.
Comments about Reflections At Four In The Morning by April Avalon
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye