I Rise – original poem


Haunted by the stillness of the night.

Nothing but tossing, tumbling, I twist and turn.

This bed a board of heat allowing no refuge.

No cradle of comfort for me this night.

A feast of tangled covers devouring the minutes and hours.

Longing for the possibility of blankness or even a dream.

It is done. The peak of day defeating the endless wrestle.

Solace elusive for another night.

I rise.

~ Barbara Bernard Miller

10 thoughts on “I Rise – original poem

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