Ode to 3:00 am

Oh, what a time this is.

The concept of the future hangs in the air.

 Our vision is swirled and intoxicated in the low, humming lamp dully allowing for a small pocket of clarity in the clouded lull of the early morning, wrapped in the thick cloths of smaug darkness and uncertainty.

 Only the ineradicable procession of time, with their imposing fanfare of grandeur and a gleam of twisted sardonic in their tune,

can indulge in the contents of that suspended future and reveal to us, the guiltless abducted bystanders, what undeserving fate we are sentenced to.

Oh how dizzying the early morning is.

 One can be completely alone yet surrounded; for every sight, every sound, every noise, every feeling is brought to animation by the spell of the myriad twilight.

The mind is at its clearest under the sway of the moon, for it is purely free to feel;

To dance about and to paint in iridescence, unclouded by logic or coherency;

Untethered from the dull, numbing fiction of what should and should not be- 

a set of rules written by minds that have been long dead and rotten.