Past Four A.M.

we all are who think and feel and love. And you have made at least one person feel less alone and helpless. Me and I suspect many others. That is why we write. and, sorry to say it, but he will become a thing of your past sooner than you think. You have the power of your words. always, Aeron

Dear flame: awesome poem, and if I may, just rounding out the edges. It’s past four a.m. I can’t sleep Not thinking of much I live in this frigid hotel room Feeling like the world outside Left me here to rot Let me die inside. They say I stepped out of line But to what punishment For a crime that’s doubtfully true? I don’t know what I did But I think it had to do with you. It’s past four a.m. My memory is hazy The film of my thoughts are blurred The road here, and back Seem undetermined These shadows, these ghosts I can’t seem to see them But I feel they’re still there Watching and waiting Seeing if I’ll fuck up again It’s past four a.m. My awareness wearing thin I can’t seem to understand If I’ll choose wrong or right Each path is a difficult one Living day to day, night to night, I never see the sun It’s past four a.m. This life feels useless So obsolete Nothing really can make me feel complete Anymore Those books I read, so many times I lost count The story lines seem so cliche The songs I listened, to, and sang sound flat and charmless These poems I wrote, don’t make sense to me anymore When I lost you, I lost my life. But somedays, when my personal zen feels in balance I wondered if I could live without you I pursued such odd thoughts And to my honest surprise I found out I could But my will to try Feels wasted It’s past four a.m Maybe I’m just tired? "...when it agrees with reason and it will benefit one and all, then accept it and live by it." ~ Buddha

Hey girl, great to see you posting.Love the new pic too. I completely relate to the overall tone of this one- loneliness, helplessness...only suggestion I can see to give is to maybe split the poem up into stanzas so it feels less ranting and more poetic. It’s past four a.m. I can’t sleep Not thinking of much Residing in this frigid hotel room Feeling like the world outside Left me here to rot Let me die inside When they realized I stepped out of line But to what punishment For a crime that’s doubfully true? I don’t know what I did But I think it had to do with you. (I think right here makes a good stanza break- where you repeat "It's past four am." Gives your reader a chance to stop and digest the stanza they just read.) It’s past four a.m. My memory is hazy The film of my thoughts are blurred The road here, and back Seem undetermined These shadows, these ghosts I can’t seem to see them But I feel they’re still there Watching and waiting Seeing if I’ll fuck up again Otherwise an awesome poem. Hope all is ok with you. Peace n love Katie

Oh see, the disadvantages of not being here as often. I missed reading your newest post Phoenix! And I see you have a few dilememma's in your scope. I have to agree that a few stanza breaks could set the pace of the work. But as you mentioned on my page, writing has not been holding you lately. Which I really understand. And so I say that I am just glad to see you here giving it a Go. It will have its times of helping and then not, of coarse as is the way of it all. I like your theme. Everything means something else a 4 am. Talk soon, Julie D.D.