Has never been certain
if 5am belongs to the night
and his shadows.
A tinker, fixing the broken fragments
of my mind that shatter
on impact of thought…
… Or if it belongs
to peace of mind on morning
song bird, a symphony
of love before reality
takes another bite.
I wonder does it even matter
A moment between the worlds
the sun is yet to rise
so I sit talking to grey
melancholy skies…
Karen Hayward ©2018
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