Quarter Past a New Day
Oh dear, tomorrow's here.
By Violet P. DaviesPublished 5 years ago • 1 min read
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As my personal witching hour approaches
My early 4:48 psychosis
My breath comes thick
Not with memory exactly
But more a reflexive dread
And excitement
A compulsion perhaps
Sometimes I sing
My song to the faraway sailor
To keep him safe from the black hags
that do be flyin’ on the sea
Most of the time I am silent
Defiant
Or simply tired
Or blissfully unaware
There are weeks
There are months
Where I do not blink at this time
Where I’m far too occupied
But lately I’ve been embracing regression
And warming to that lullaby
Again
I fear I’ll break the spell
If I set it on the page
Thus am I held in thrall -
Thus, and that I wouldn’t let them
Cut that candle
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About the Creator
Violet P. Davies
Words make me feel fulfilled occasionally.
Keep track of me on Insta @purpleproseandposies
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