At Three in the Morning

At three in the morning
Wide awake versus a snoring world
The words fall upon me
Like the rains on African generations

Steady, dense, perfect

The pieces of puzzles
Starting to reveal the final picture
No box tops for comparison

And damn if I didn't predict
That all those perfect
Words and phrases
Wouldn't be forgotten by dawn

Because at three in the morning
We are frozen in our own prisons
Walls either erecting around us
or falling towards freedom