a ship hit by waves made from storms
sways violently to its left and right
my mind is buffeted at points deformed
by unsettled questions eluding sight
between two extremes i loosen grip
and catch the balance with finger tips
and though unable to muster depth
unsettled questions does it spell death
there in my midst two voices tell
one speaks resentment one whispers hope
one offers heaven one shoves me hell
stuck in the middle i have to cope
and when the night it beckons rest
i hope tonight my head to nest
but churning in my heart are wounds
i hope the sun will come out soon.
Spent many a night waiting for morning to come for these very reasons myself. Very well expressed.
Thanks Fountains. On the other side of the globe it’s noon. So the sun has finally risen. I wish it would linger longer and not by it setting again soon.
This made me think of two quotes:
“In a real dark night of the soul, it is always three o’clock in the morning, day after day.” – F. Scott Fitzgerald (possibly my most favorite quote ever – it’s even on my Facebook).
“Night is the blotting paper for many sorrows.” – Unknown
Would we be poets if it were always morning?
Good quotes that breathes life into dark nights. Joy and contentment sometimes muffle out depths but for poets, their daily inspirations are dark contemplative depths. I guess our best scuptures comes to life when we see not just beauty but some form of reality unseen, the thing that is our mortality. On the soils of earth, lasting beauty lies probably in our ability to grasp meaning in it’s futility. Two oximorons that don’t come together but we have no choice but affirm their reality.
That gives me much to ponder. Well said, J.
:)…sorry, my explanations tend to be going round in circles. Thanks for reading!
Ah, but circles are my favorite shape. 😉
Oh, that’s good. I’m not a fan of squares.