Lonely Hours


Lonely hours;
That interminable period of time when all is quiet,
Sleeping,
Except for me
In my quaint little bed on a quaint little street,
In a quaint little city.

That incessantly long trudge through the sands of time
As the neon colors of my bedside clock tick off yet another hour;
Still, all is asleep, all is quiet,
Except for me and my desperate thoughts
Of better days and the summer rain;
Will this night never end? I hear my subconscious ask,
To which that glowing, never-tiring clock answers no,
You shall be trapped here in this bleak eternity forever
And you shall never see daylight again.

The pain begins to set in, inevitable and surging in my heart;
For if there is no morning, then there shall never be another sunset
To watch with you at my side;
No sunset to spend on top of the mountain,
Feel your arms around me as we watch the sky
Color its imaginative reds and purples and oranges.
Perhaps I shall sleep a little longer;
When I wake up, will you be here?

-Elisabeth Spalding