Bliss.

He plays guitar quietly
across the line
that separates us
and connects us
together
at 4 a.m.

I listen--
it's weird,
because I'm not talking
like I usually do
non-stop.

The repetitive twang of strings
soft and caressing
eases through one side
of the long line
and another
producing a sweet melody
I've heard before--
maybe.

At 4 a.m.
it really doesn't click
if you know the song
or not.

So I just lay
and listen
to the lullaby
ease out of my phone
with a smile on my face.

Bliss.

I'm not really going to review this, but I definitely really liked this poem. It's original, and I like how you didn't structure it around any rhymes or rhythms.

icanbefixed wrote:The repetitive twang of strings
soft and caressing
eases through one side
of the long line
and another
producing a sweet melody
I've heard before--
maybe.

This was definitely my favorite stanza of your poem!
Keep on writing!
-Jane

hey, thanks!
I definitely wanted it to be freestyle like that, because it reflected how I felt at the time. Very... spontaneous, I might say?

I really enjoyed your motif of time. The repetition of 4am gave a sense of structure amongst the unorganised rhyme and rhythm which i felt really illustrated the sort if daze most of us fall into when awake at such a time.

Nicoke
x