5 hours before dawn.

[douglas]

This is my restless hour,
Five hours before dawn,
When it is silent
And I think of lucky lovers
Entwined in passionate embrace -
Touching skin in sweet sleep.

This is when I know that I am a poet,
Alone and mournfully romantic,
With only a storm to keep me company,
Pushing through my open veranda door;
Alone and tragically sentimental,
With a glass of red wine and a candle
So much shorter than it was a moment ago.

This restless hour,
When passions fly thick
In the turbulent wind,
Violent in their endless searching,
Pulling me,
Tempting me to go out into the indigo freeze
And find within this tempest and turbulence -
This loneliness -
The phantom,
The muse,
Who visits only in dreams.

[abstrect-christ]

my hours of wakefullness are your sleping ones.
nice piece, clear imagery.
good read.

[Dee2]

Whether one has not yet gone to bed or has awakened and cannot get back to sleep, the dead of night provides a time for the mind to toss and turn, to ponder one's successes and failures,  to agonize over past mistakes and plan for a future that avoids those speed bumps. Your title alone pulled me into that world.

[eclipse]

this has echoes of Fernando Pessoa-the book of disquiet