3AM
Rain pitter patters on the
Windowpane. The crickets. They
Chirp solemn songs of lonliness,
And mysteries devoid of light in
The night time that I’ll never solve.
The lights from the television
Fill my eyes with their pigments;
Every channel begins to filter into
The same.
Hours like these where the only
Things that talk are the
Hallway and the lamp
Make me believe that I dream
While awake.
Slumber eludes me; but there’s
No one I can blame for the insomnia.
Stepping out onto the porch, I
Never cease to wonder at all
The colors I feel amidst the
Black.
The sun may not be casting its glow,
But there are still rainbows in the night. My eyes.
They’re blind to all the concrete details
And contours of the world outside. Yet the
Helen Keller inside reminds me that
Our hearts are the only things
That have eyes; eyes that
See the undertones visual people
Usually miss.

Oh, the things the world offers
At 3AM.