Three Hours After Midnight - Poem by Orlando Belo
I was lying awake trying to stop my mind from thought,
but I was losing the fight, my attention had been caught.
Sleep was the last thing my mind had in store for me;
it intended to saturate my thoughts with creativity.
It combined words and flowing colours in extraordinary blends.
Slowly, then quickly, smooth, then textured, the mix had no end.
The flowing beauty made no sense; however, for a second it did.
The sheer speed of the images made the observations short lived.
I couldn’t capture or freeze any image and retain it in my mind,
my memory couldn’t cope with the instantaneous designs.
The images became increasingly abstract, as I tried to slow everything down.
I thought I had succeeded, but it only slowed to twist things around.
I became hot and sweaty, and threw back the duvet from my bed.
This mental turmoil was having an effect outside my head.
I had to get up to splash cold water over my eyes and face,
and then I just sat trying to stop my thoughts from taking place.
Eventually, feeling more relaxed I lay down and closed my eyes.
I was beneath a light blue sky, with soft white clouds passing by.
Peace and calm had come to a turbulent and unpredictable mind,
my thoughts were slower and pleasant, at last, I’d found dream time.
Comments about Three Hours After Midnight by Orlando Belo
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
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You