A Slow Awakening

You wake up slowly,
your back stiff, unused
to the soft sofa where you fell asleep last night,
pretending to read while you waited

in the dark, the sound of children next door
dancing in your head, the sound
of your worst critic whispering
like Satan in the dark,

reminding you of every mistake,
every failure held under a magnifying glass,
a bad movie that plays in a never ending loop
until you fall asleep, and dream.

You wake up stiff,
your mind sluggish from a day of travel,
unable to leap into the day, not quite
able to focus as you read your scripture

and pray your prayers of reluctant thanksgiving,
forcing your brain, like a prisoner,
to break through the dark, screaming at your mind
like a drill Sargent screaming

at a wayward child.
God is gentler than you, more kind, far
more forgiving, far more patient
with your wayward mind than you,

but then, he knows the ending
and you know only the moment.
He sees in the dark, and you
hear only the whispers

never sure if they are friend
or foe, whether your life
is a laughable mistake
or art.

 

About this poem

The picture is from a recent trip to New York for work. Believe it or not, that is Madison Square Garden. A mistake, but I have decided it’s art.

I really AM sluggish this morning, having made the 11 hour trip to Virginia and back to deliver my daughter and her belongings to college over the past couple of days. And I really did fall asleep on the couch last night, the victim of bad dreams.

And as is often the case, the best way to exorcise darkness is to proclaim it, and move on. And so, this poem. And now, I can enjoy the sun coming in over the quarry, the cup of coffee in my immediate future, and the day.

Be blessed,

Tom