A middle-of-the-night poem

(Some of my best writing comes from great pain, or great joy, or great sorrow, or great worry.  And in the middle of the night.)

I’m not used to having no control or influence. And yet here I am, unable to change the mot horrific of things. I give it to God every day, over and over, again and again. Even at 2:30 in the morning:



I find myself


for air.


a fish

out of




out of

my reach.


I feel like

I’m suspended

from a tall building,

barely hanging on,

about to fall

to my death.


I draw inward,

tightening my physical core,

standing a bit taller,

and simultaneously sinking,



and weary,

feeling as if the world is caving in

and I’m about to collapse.

I sag a bit further

with each breath.


I shake myself,

regain control,

get it together:

my teeth cutting into my bottom lip,

tears only a heartbeat away.


I put on my face,

my armor,

standing up straight,

moving forward

but unfeeling,

for I can’t imagine doing that

and keeping it together too.


And for now,

I’m keeping it together.



3 thoughts on “A middle-of-the-night poem

  1. Dear, dear fellow slicer. I think we all feel like this at times. I hope the new day finds you refreshed and feeling joy. Thank you for sharing this very honest poem. I hope in the sharing of it, that you feel rest. Please keep writing. Beautiful.

  2. There is so much emotion in this poem. Thank you for sharing from your heart.

  3. So much raw feeling. I hope writing and reading this wipes away a little bit of your weariness and brings with it a fresh breath to keep you going.

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