In the Morning Night
searching corridors
of night, I find Truth hiding
in a darkened room.
the bad time is here.
the cold time.
the sit in the kitchen
with no shirt and absorb
the cold time. the
brain of pain time.
writing with a black ballpoint
pen time. the no real light time.
the dark time. This is the bad time.
out here, in the morning night
3:00 a.m. finds me again
waiting for the sun
while praying for clouds
and wishing for a peaceful dream.
Good Night.
of night, I find Truth hiding
in a darkened room.
the bad time is here.
the cold time.
the sit in the kitchen
with no shirt and absorb
the cold time. the
brain of pain time.
writing with a black ballpoint
pen time. the no real light time.
the dark time. This is the bad time.
out here, in the morning night
3:00 a.m. finds me again
waiting for the sun
while praying for clouds
and wishing for a peaceful dream.
Good Night.
Labels: In the Morning Night, James Eric Watkins
posted by Sir James Eric Watkins at 3:16 AM
1 Comments:
I know this time too. Your poem say so well how vulnerable we feel in the middle of the night.
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