I sing at 1am

I have to be at work 

at 9:30 in the morning.

 

I retire at midnight,

to prepare for the anxieties,

to come into the head-space,

to become the other person

that I can safely be

for myself, by myself,

to myself, so I can sleep.

I sing at 1am

to fill the silent air,

to calm my anxiety,

to become another person,

so I don't have to wonder

if something will catch fire,

if someone's about to die.

I play at 2am,

to fill the silent air,

to calm my anxiety,

to forget for a while,

of the person I have to be,

and become the person,

the part of me,

that has to always hide.

I turn at 3am,

to try and fall asleep,

but there's always anxieties,

and always who I have to be,

I could be, I should be,

what I could have said, 

would have said, should have said,

what I have done,

what I haven't done, what could be, would be,

should be done.

Things I can not change nor control,

things that are inevitable and set,

things that cause an very irrational

amount of fret.

Before I know it,

my thoughts are of simpler things,

my body becomes heavy,

and I imagine arms around me

as I finally am ready to lull myself to sleep.

 

I'm asleep at 4am.

Finally.

Alarm set for quarter 'til 9.

I'm awake at 7am,

unable to return to sleep.

 -LJ

27 November 2017

Sonnet 8

To awaken my love, or let him sleep?

The dreams he could be dreaming might be grand,

but what if nightmares plague and pain and creep?

What does he dream of as I hold his hand

here in the comfort of our little home?

 Does he receive word from angels above?

Do mem'ries flash and play and sing and roam,

to give to him a sense of being loved?

 

The sun rises high, and Sleep has him tight

in his embrace to give him sweetest night.

-LJ

27 November 2017

Change & End

For seasons change,

and flowers live in fear

of bitter cold,

and wilt with colored tears.

For lives will change,

and eyes become more clear

to all the sights

and keep them close and dear.

For times will change,

and memories are here

to teach once more

to cherish what is near.

For all these common things--

seasons, lives, times,

--will always change and end,

I remember that despite the end,

they'll be anew and start again.

-LJ

27 November 2017

The Thanks (3 "Cold " Poems, #3)

For saving what was left of me,

for bringing back my creativity,

for setting what was trapped inside me free...

for always being here to cheer me on,

for supporting me when I thought I was gone,

for being the sunlight to all my dawns...

for letting me see the world through freshest eyes,

for allowing me to cry my many cries,

for all the many pretty butterflies...

for prying me from the hands of bitter cold,

for telling me the things that you have told,

for being so amazing, so brave, so bold...

for the way your heart is so kind,

for the opportunity to freely speak my mind,

for the times you've made me laugh with things you find...

the cold is gone,

and I may live freely 

once again.

Thank you.

-LJ

3 November 2017

The Cold (3 "Cold" Poems, #2)

I will dance

in the light of the sun,

to the songs of the clouds and the wind.

I will wonder

in the heat of the moment,

if the cold is soon to come again.

I will experience

the shift of the ground beneath me,

as the songs are silenced and the world gets dark.

His ears will find me,

his arms will bind me,

his hands will feel me,

his soul will keel me.

I will collapse in his presence,

and I will awake not remembering

how I got here, and how so lifeless I've become.

-LJ

poem written 22 October 2017

poem posted to blog 3 November 2017