Last Till Morning

No tedious thoughts or repetitive tasks.

I lay, eyes unopened. But soon they must.

Stirred from dream only by vast light.

Dust shows the light, or does the light show the dust?

Reality comes to focus, to logical from blur.

I face the cold wall, thoughts and pain even more.

The feeling is hurt or alone. Either or; I am unsure?

Loss of love. Loss of life. Thoughts of both leave me sore.

I feel my soul tremble, from great depths a tear forms.

Fear, disbelief, panic all grip at weak flesh.

The night did not end my terrors or my storms.

I cannot bare it. Joy, hope, love tangled in life’s mesh?

Sobbing, I wait for my reaper to come.

This could be the episode that finally lets me be done.

Moments move by, my eyes welded tight.

My heart is broken, bleeding, I cannot find hope.

My reaper is not coming. I must face the light.

I tense against the pain and whisper “I can cope!”

I turn my shoulders over as I release a great gasp.

The blanket flies as a hand moves over head.

Momentum causes hips to shift, breaking unseen straps

My eyes face the heated rays. Wetness dried and not dead.

The dust fades in the light. My anxieties too disappear.

Hardly believing my want to quit. To lay and just turn cold.

Celebrate the reaper missing as slept with wounding fear.

My mind at work I visualize the days til being old.

Cares not gone, they linger near. Recovery is never easy.

But looking through a brighter lens can bring a longed for victory.