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Past.

It’s past the witching hour.
Past the time where small children
Run to parents’ room with nightmares.
Past when the stray cats go to sleep.
Past when the night is darkest.
Past when the moon is fullest.
Past when the coyotes have had their fill.
Everything’s asleep.
The birds, the animals.
Even the trees.
Everything’s quiet.
Why, then,
If everything’s put away,
Am I still awake?
Still crying countless tears
For things that can’t be changed.
Still making countless wishes
For things that can’t come true.
My days and nights blur together,
Never to be undone.
It’s past the witching hour.




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