4 AM

The ceiling fan whizzes softly above my head,
Circulating stale radiator-air,
Repetitive hypnosis,
Contrasting icy winter winds howling against loose window pains,
The rattling interrupted only by the distant sounds of tyre against asphalt,
Gravel caught up in between the spinning treads of worn out wheels,
Suddenly flung back on the street like forgotten change,
Thrown out of a childs loose pocket while he runs and plays.

Early morning silence attempts to permeate through this ambient night activity,
Bringing about the anxiousness of anticipated sunrise,
That which erases the cover that nightly returns,
Ensnaring me into the percieved protection of dusk.