The Writing Hour

Seconds tick, minutes pass

I know, by now, I should be asleep.

How often, will poetry start

with seconds, and minutes?

For how long, will it also come second?

 

Words, along with 6am, start.

Lines form and glare

Dazzling in this shrouded room.

Seconds tick, minutes pass

I know, by now, I should be asleep.

 

Consciousness, breaks

long before day duties do,

I know, by now, I should be dreaming.

Yet, poetry starts.

 

Lines form and glare

and here we are.

 

 

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