It's 4 a.m.

Time...we often think we'll have it

Then something reminds us

in a sigh, a tear, a rhyme.

It's 4 a.m.

my world has gone to sleep

What are friends
if not to keep?

What are friends

In the end...really?

We are all alone

It's known-
by creatures small and wide

by the tear in ones eye

when the midnight hour ticks

to the ring of the bell...
and all that's wrong

it's 4 am.

and time for bed

But with insomnia comes
dread

of another busy, hustling day

it's 4 am.

and more peace in writing than sleep...
more calm

trying to make sense out of what's gone...
while lingering too long

And, protesting too much?
And judgments rushed?

And the peace goes away
and the covers of night
become day

And I know it's time.
Still the longing to rhyme, and to
feel the calm
of the stillness of night

But, it's late, and
it's time....Goodnight.