The Wee Hour Crescendo

It's half-past-three in the a.m. again,
and I'm up in the usual way,

Those relentless reflections are on the attack
and I'm failing to hold them at bay.

With a shuttering gaze of my eyes, I'm awake
by the nightmarish sights in my head.

Oh, what I would give for a night undisturbed,
lying soundly asleep, in my bed!

Only moments ago, I was savoring the dream
of a beautiful, far-away place,

where I counted the stars from the crest of a moon,
floating deep in the stillness of space.



By now, I see "everyone" else is awake
and demanding a trip down the hall

for the cold, dreaded visit that's made every night
to accommodate nature's last call.

What triggers the mind at this unholy hour
with memories out of control,

That is vividly detailed and gaining momentum
which painfully ravages the soul?

From a long, vacant stare at the ceiling, I fade,
slowly closing my eyes with a yawn,

but just before reaching that magical place,
I am struck by the sunlight of dawn.

~William A. Tatum