I lie awake, the sheets soaked with sweat.
I am afraid that I will not succeed.
It will be OK in the end, you said.
You breathe gently.
A sound in the still night wakes you.
You turn, and you sleep again.
Yesterday you said we were one,
But how can you be so sure, so confident, so in control?
You said that it would be all right,
Together we would make it,
Whatever it may be.
But it mocks me, chanting,
“What have you achieved?”
“What hopes have you for the future?”
Grey and fatigued by the night,
I wake before the alarm.
If it is not OK, then it is not the end.
In the orchard, the autumn sun on my back,
The leaves rustling in the breeze,
The birds singing, I was happy; I was at peace.
If it is OK, does that mean it is the end?
This poem was first published in Godstone
Images in this blog are from Pixabay under Creative Commons