it is in the small hours, when
stumbling back to bed that
they come to you most often:
when will the dawn come and
will you rise to greet it?
Or that friend, will he come
to wake you and when will he arrive?
Or that glass, can it be filled
to finally slake your thirst?
But by then the clock far down
the hall is chiming its chimes
or ringing its bells
or moving ahead
and you’re already back, snuggled in,
asleep again, not that it matters,
if you don’t really want to wake up,
but still…perhaps, just perhaps.
Thank you for reading Perhaps. I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain, and as always, I look forward to your comments.
The photograph is a still life of a clock I took in my home in Putnam, CT. For more photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh.
Photograph, poem and notes © 2014 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2014 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use or reproduction in any way, unless so granted in writing by the copyright owner.