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Midnight prayer

If you know anything about poetry, you probably shouldn’t read this. It’s just a collection of thoughts I needed to get down, and this is how they came out.

 
I am not so strong as you suppose.
 
You fear the dark; I comfort you.
I lift you out of danger
and shield you from the monsters.
I whisper ancient promises as your eyelids fall.
I speak to you of goodness and light,
and you believe me.
 
You have yet to think my arms may fail,
that doubts may cloud my certainty,
that I may fear the dark as well.
 
I cannot save you.
 
A mighty hand has set your days in motion,
and I cannot number them.
I cannot slow their steady march.
 
I steal into your darkened room
at a quarter of midnight
and listen to your easy breath,
envying your perfect rest.
Your limbs sprawl wide,
hiding nothing. Fearing nothing.
I trace them with a fingertip,
bend low,
and kiss your brow.
 
A breathed prayer,
and I memorize this moment.
 
I turn to leave you in the dark,
having no hope but that
the hand that is mighty
is also good —
that when the shadows hunted us
it came in pink and tender flesh,
gathered up the darkness,
folded inward like a fist,
and crushed it.
 
 
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