Stars or street lamps? The light from the window gently wakes me. 

I roll over, tug at the covers—why can't the gaps in the blinds be narrower?

Listening to the rhythmic hum of the fan, I wonder away. 

Evening air is always chillier, a refreshing cool—it clears the mind. 

Noise of daily thoughts and worries drift away into the dust of the room. 

Each time the question arises, I close my eyes and sleep once more. 

Dead of Night

A poem about waking up in the middle of the night. 

Stars or street lamps? The light from the window gently wakes me.

I roll over, tug at the covers—why can't the gaps in the blinds be narrower?



The beauty and power of poetry. Share your love of the written word and become a Poet today.