2.57

[lancaster1250]

I wake,
Those lonely hours
Between reruns and infomercials,
When cups of coffee conclude shifts
And prop open eyes for a long day.

My head filled with regret,
what-ifs
memory
pain
like an old dream-catcher
tattered and torn,
hanging on a rusty nail from the wall.

Trapped in waking,
caught in a fog
between memory and longing
the lonely hour itself 
crisp silence
cold air
fruitless questions.

Read Shakespeare until the sun rises.