Two o'clock in the morning
Is my best friend.
The steam from my
Fourth cup of coffee
Curls out of my chipped old mug
To caress the frost-kissed window.
The golden glow of my lamp
Disguises the cold light
The moon casts upon the ice shrouded garden.
Two o'clock knows
All my secrets
All my tears
All my schemes.
My cup of coffee and I,
Holding the universe together
Just by our existence,
By our very essence.
For two o'clock in the morning
Is not for the faint of heart.
It is not for the lovers
Or the mundane
Or the sleepers.
Two o'clock in the morning
Is for the writers
For the poets
For the dreamers.
It is for the desperate
The passionate
The obsessed.
They join the stars
Dancing in the winter sky
In their wanderings through the darkness.
Once the mundane fade
Into the realm of sleep,
Heaven's teardrops pour
Their favor on upturned faces,
The faces of those who look to
The stars
The dark
The night
For guidance
For wisdom
And for inspiration.
And so, the daybreak finds me,
Something small dwelling with something enormous,
I and the universe.
It is, however, a part of me,
And I am a part of it.