Father, your glory birthed the sun!

6:11 AM

At night my eyelids force my focus in
to the depths of myself, thick curtains
preventing me from reflecting light.
In my coma of darkness, I lose all strength
of will, spirit, and truth. I am a victim,
unable to lift my hands in defense. I am naked.
It is my internal crucifixion.

Torment locates my terror nerve and does
its job. My spirit, trapped in my dormant skin,
trembles like a puddle-bound worm
in a thunderstorm— just drowning.
My anxiety violently writhes against the inside
of my dead body. Everything but my voice
cries out for God. No Sound.

In fear, I jolt awake, and still,
it’s dark. My chest, wrung tight,
and heart— still feeling fight. I wait—
for a ball of fire in the air
to conquer darkness with every ray of light,
to pave the steps that lead me out of night.
Ah, the song!
I hear and see the promises of dawn.

Father, your glory birthed the sun,
and to the horizon’s gift I’ll run.