3 A.M.

The clock ticks loudly,

the window is dark;

and all noon chaos,

has ceased to bark.

Rolling, tossing, turning,

I sigh at my ceiling;

already counted sheep,

now deciphering feelings.

The fireflies are fearless,

all nocturnals awake;

the moon keeps shining,

for autumn’s sake.

Some dreamily snoring,

others drowned in love;

all these loud thoughts,

angels guard from above.

Inevitably, I am too a part,

of this magical possibility;

hoping, waiting, for miracles,

to transcend my reality.


2 thoughts on “3 A.M.

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