i get up around 4 am

i get up around 4 am and try to convince him that sleep would be a better choice.
he’s a chatterbox, a motormouth, his little mind is going 90 miles a minute.
there is no winding back down, stopping his voice.
the construction begins at 5:45, about when we both begin to doze off (finally!).
there are no quiet moments for reflection over coffee
on the back porch while the doves coo and the green slowly returns.
i’ve traded my sanity to chase a dream that is dying
almost as quickly as the one i was having at 4 am.
if only these dreams of the waking life could be just as quickly forgotten
and left behind like the bizarre cacophony of the nighttime consciousness.
if only i could make my mind behave, be tamed, be still.
if only in all of the chatter in my head there was something profound to be said
instead, it’s mostly just noise like the sounds of the stream of consciousness
pitter patter of palabras popping out of his mouth.
he clearly is his daddy’s son–
i just pray to God that he will not inherent his daddy’s lowly self esteem
and make the choice to let the world stop his voice by the time he’s thirteen.
but, i’m only praying this prayer now, there were no prayers forthcoming at 4 am.
there was no gratitude, berekah, no beseeching or inward groaning too deep for words.
just a pair of eyes that i could barely hold open
and a head i could barely hold up
and a certain knowledge that this is no time and place for a man to be at 40, almost 41.
the dreams that have all died must be re-born again inside that little man in the other room, but…
of course, not that sad cliche of the father forcing his poor son
to be all the things he was too afraid to become.
Lord only knows that’s gone on long enough from fearful generation to ungrateful generation.
Lord only knows that there’s been too much work, too much gravitas and not enough fun.
Lord only knows why that boy is up and running his mouth at 4 am.

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