3 a.m.

3 a.m. here we are again.
So familiar with my pain,
Aren't you?

Of course you are.
This is morning ritual.
I light the candles
All 7 of them
You keep the minutes
At bay whilst
I pray.

3 a.m. why must we meet?
Must it always be
To a mournful beat?
These candles stand for
Something.

Of course all you
Offer is silence....
Yet you act like my friend.
Always giving time
Never comfort or relief.
Only watching
Whilst i grieve.

3 a.m. i am tired.
Can this please come
To an end?
I no longer wish
To be your friend....



Poetry by Luna Nightshade
Read 570 times
Written on 2018-07-04 at 00:28

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one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
This is very touching.
2018-07-05