It gets quiet at 3am.
The bedsheets are wrinkled and rolled back.
Another half empty cup of coffee,
Another crumpled sheet of paper.
Elbows on the table, head in hands.
It gets quiet at 3am.
The only sound is the calm traffic in the street below,
And the late-night infomercial.
A breeze shakes the drapes.
It gets quiet at 3am.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and look out the window.
The streets are a ghostown, lonesome
And soaked in the early morning wet.
I'd like to lay down forever,
But it gets too quiet to sleep.
Patrick O'Reilly
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/3am-and-it-s-quiet/
