…it is 4am

I am drifting slowly in my dreams
where the past relentlessly whispers to me
until sleep becomes a shallow river
and suddenly it is 4am, my nemesis, my companion
I am crossing the bridge to my misery, but still holding on to hope
I am awakened by a slow ticking clock, that does not belong to me
another stark reminder, of all that I have lost
another turn around the sun and another lonely night
and it is still 4am where my ghosts are whispering unseen
of all the things I have lost and all that might have been
I feel your presence circling in the cool breeze
a quiet sigh from another lifetime
that does not belong to the waking world
for time has not healed my sorrow
nor does it help me to survive until tomorrow
but it is still 4am and these brief moments of hope
stir something in my dormant soul
my memories are coming back to life
I walk the plank again, but I know where this will end
it is still 4am, this is the hour, this is the place
I hear you whisper on the breeze just beneath the surface of reality
for just one poignant moment, I think you are answering my call
and the moment drenches me in longing
and rekindles the embers of hope
that circle me slowly like the mists
it is still 4am, in both my dreams and my reality
and I find myself awakening to emptiness
and a silent acknowledgement of the impossible truth
that even embers still burn gently in the shadows of the soul
and our ghosts will ever linger, seeking reminders of love
and it is still 4am, and our secrets are now buried deep inside of me
©Ann Bagnall