I wrote a free-form poem (or something) on 7/14/1994 entitled “3 a.m.”
It’s nothing fancy, but I found it along with all the short stories and poems I wrote as a teenager, which dates back to 1989.
Anyway, I thought I’d share “3 a.m.” with you – my friends.
3 a.m.
3 a.m. is a beautiful time in the morning in which God set aside for me.
I may not always be awake to see that time in the morning, but when I’m awake, it is such a wondrous site.
One morning at 3 a.m., the moon shone so bright that it illuminated the sky and shone on the clouds.
Nothing was moving. Not the clouds, not the wind… Nothing.
A few crickets could be heard chirping away, but that was it.
Then the other morning at 3 a.m., the sky was dark and the light pitter-patter of rain could be heard.
The wind was slightly moving, rustling the trees ever so lightly.
The smell of rain and of wet ground was fresh in the air.
Dear God, thank you for making 3 a.m. mine. It’s so good to be alive and to know that you are in control – even at 3 a.m.