I sit, in a cocoon of blankets, wide awake experiencing the wee hours of the morning.
An African musician playing bongos in my head.
I sit. Staring at my wall adorned with the symbols, the words, the colors that describe me. the things that I love.
And I think, I think about absolutely nothing but everything at the exact same time.
Life.
Death.
Our purpose.
Family.
Friends.
You may ask or wonder how this is possible, to have a brain so filled with thoughts their spilling out of your ears but a brain so dreadfully dry and unoccupied at the same time.
I've fallen ill at the hand of the 3AM. Disease
- Author: hboo ( Offline)
- Published: August 4th, 2017 12:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
Comments2
Wow! This is new. Try meditation to calm down. Nice poem.
I have a touch of that disease sometimes, it is amazing what I can remember at 3am in the morning that I have been trying to remember all day. Good write.
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