Tuesday, August 5, 2014

6 AM - 8/5/14

When our thoughts are quietest,
We hear echoes of the past.
Some are pleasant
Others are like broken glass.

This space between late and early
It is the playground of emotions.
Silent reflection on good times
Memories of pain that cause commotions.

The world seems to be at a standstill
While our heads spin away.
Dreaming in real-time
As night fades into day.

One must set,
As the other is to rise.
Hurt lingers like waning darkness;
Happiness filters in like sunlight in dim skies.

Hands align on clocks
Six is now the time.
When the morning is born
The night echoes in the mind.


-A. Lewis