5 o'clock in the morning.
A time for all the lunatics of the world: the runners, the taxidrivers, the cyclists.
A time of peace and silence.
Dark and chill.
The time for Dawn raids.
Violence, crying children.
A gunshot rings through the still air.
But still a sanctuary.
Stars twinkle in the heavens
Waiting for the brutal sun to drown them in light.
Waiting for their death
Kamikaze pilots careening towards their oblivion.
Dying for their country.
They are young boys.
In their minds their family their suicide,
And only a few meters away in identical craft
Comrades united in death.
Plumeting down in a flaming glory
The dark ocean.
Reflections in the water, ghosts of reality.
Life means death.
Light means dark.
In the dark are horrors. Dark and shadowy they skulk, ready to pounce.
A whirl of claws and teeth, bloodshed.
The werewolf howls.
The silver bullet flashes in the moonlight
At 5 o'clock in the morning
A crazy time for all the lunatics of the world
In darkness, In peace, In solitary.
Wandering over the sand, gazing over the dark water
Dark footprints along the beach, invisible hollows in the ground
Never to be seen until
The first ray of sunshine pierces the blackness
A golden glow is on the horizon and
The black sky cracks
Shattered by the sharp flames of the sun,
Birthing the day, warm and yellow
Tainting the once pure air and corrupting the tranquility
Rousing the world of the sane and erupting into...
Coffee and cornflakes, happy chatter and newspapers.
So blissfully ignorant of pre-dawn life and totally unaware that
The cool darkness is crumbling,
The monsters fading away.
And with them, The world of the unexpected, the shocking, the terrifying, the insane.
The world of true beauty