there’s a moment

when you’re awake

at an ungodly, unnatural hour

and everything

is a different kind

of quiet.

 

it’s not quite the same

as the quiet in waking hours,

where there are hushed voices

and low volumes on the TV

and the tip-toe

of small feet.

 

it’s different and wild

peaceful and simple,

when the neighbourhood is silent

and the birds don’t sing

and the cats stalk mice

in the alley behind the house.

 

it’s dogs curled up on beds

and your hairs raised on end

at the back of your neck

when a car rolls past on the street

unnaturally early

and you wonder where they’re going.

 

we’re all unified

in a need for rest

but there is unrest

at every turn

and disturbance

at every street corner.

 

it’s ironic that we crave a quiet place

but we spend so much time

in waking moments

making so much noise

and creating so much

disruption.

 

turmoil, chaos and anarchy

are hidden in between

the lines separating rest

from unrest,

when the world is silent

except in the shadows.

 

it’s 4am

and it’s quiet,

but the shadows know too well

that the silence is deceiving,

and these shadows

have a story to tell.