Worth The Battle

Perhaps I should write less in the morning,
after I have pinned my demons to the walls
and left them squirming, suddenly
more comical than cruel. Maybe
I should write in the afternoon,
after hours of being useful enough
to feel worth the life God has given me,
the love that came, again with exquisite timing
just as I needed it, just as I became resigned
to the dull certainty of age.
Or perhaps I should write in the last hours of night,
when I am full of romance and restless energy,
the body tired and the spirit aroused with hope,
always hope,
even as I know the demons are pulling loose
from their prison walls and making ready
for a new assault.
But no, I write in the morning.
Partially a sorting out as I move from my dream world
to the real one, from dark battles to sunshine.
Partially for the prosaic reason
that in the mornings, I have the time.

So in the morning I write. I name things.
So much changes in the naming of things.
Demons shrink. Darkness becomes light.
Everything I face becomes smaller.
And so you dear reader, come along for the battle,
sitting on the hill overlooking the battlefield
and see the battle fought, and mostly, won.
And that perhaps, despite the bout of occasional darkness,
I write in the morning,
Not just to win the battle, but to remind you,
or any wanderer to these pages
that it can be won, and it is worth the battle.

About this poem

The photograph was taken in my backyard.

Tom