Is it late at night
or early in the morning?
When sleep evades,
it's hard to tell.
Fog blankets the street,
a neon sign flickers,
blues and static from a cheap radio
leak through the door of an all night cafe.
The usual collection of phantoms
and specters line the counter,
nursing a cup of joe
or glass of flat ale.
It's always the same at this grey hour,
somewhere between gaiety and sorrow,
souls waiting to be saved
by dawn's first light.
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