Its 4 am. Again.
Ive looked around at my tranquill surroundings
Enough to pollute each detail into a hollow memory
This hollow memory latched onto my temple
This hollow memory. I couldn’t survive without.
Its 4 am. again.
I’ve lost focus on my auburn-stained curtains
Not enough to dismember the discrepancies that lie within This hollow memory
Enough to confabulate the joy seared in my allotment of hardship
locked within the crevicies in the contingent springs blessed by the sun
“Symbols of new life. Symbols of peace.
Symbols of serenity. Symbols of order.”
I wonder
If I could. One day. Be welcomed into this utopian bliss
If I kept my hollow memory
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Author:
angeline (
Online) - Published: April 16th, 2025 00:56
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Online)
Comments2
The way you have written this poem is skillful, each stanza adds to the intense atmosphere of this poem. It gives a good impression of some of the abstract things that can be running around in ones mind when waking up at a certain time. Often 4 am indeed.
Memory is the key to many emotions. A strong write it asks the question if one could experience bliss if one still remembers. A thought provoking question it is. Very well written.
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