Wake Up At Four – Written Wednesday 18th February 2026 (Aged 50)

Wake Up At Four

I look back over my life
and that,
in itself, is an affliction.
I dream at night
and in bed,
I wake up at four;
dreams are no longer a way out
or a reliable door —
just dungeons of anxiety
which,
each night, I enter once more.
I dream,
a place of claw,
in a sea of what ifs,
in a place
of illicit chores.
I build funfairs
on the edge
of every coastal cliff.
I confuse dry ice
for icy mist;
I list all of my fears
and I fear
all of my lists.
I look back
and I am held hostage
by memories,
and I know it is wrong,
but I warm
to this hostage taker;
I know though,
memories are just paper
or parchment,
or fragments of a song,
like long haul trailers
that I haul along.
So I dream once again,
but it is never for long;
I remember something —
but it is neither lost
or won.
And still I look back,
hostage as I am
to where it all begun.
Every life
is many lives
caught in strange lore.
I dream at night…
but too often
I wake at four.

James Garratt – Wednesday 18th February 2026

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