The A-M

The AM is my hour:

I am alive.

I sit for hours, thinking

about yesterday, about tomorrow,

about me, about you, about us,

about life, this world, and about the skies.

I listen to the wind, looking at my window,

I listen to my thoughts, looking outside my window,

loving the darkness, the quiet, loving the sky,

as twinkly, eternity away, yet, feeling

heartbeats away,

and yet, looking as beautiful.

I slide back to my darkness,

I lay down in bed, feeling;

feeling nothing, feeling something, feeling some things

inexplicable, indisposable, inescapable.

I feel my face, and my heart speaks

in vocabularies of expressions;

I feel the wetness and the depth, the depth, the depth!

I sink—down and down below, below, below!

Streams flow, streams burn, streams break me down and down within.

My mind races, my mind spirals, my mind kills me!

I twist, I turn; I twist and break—oh, I break!

What is this?

Inexplicable, indisposable, inescapable!

 

It is just 3 am, and then, 4 am, and then it’s 5.

The world is dead in slumber,

as I lay awake, lifeless, thinking and feeling.

It is just the am;

the am

of longer hours. 

The moment of truths, of secrets unveiled,

the moment of oneness and aloneness.

The hour when death and life mingle—

we choose one, the other chooses us;

sometimes, it is the other way round.

 

The am is depth:

it is my hour, of death and of life.