"Its Two: Three-Four A.M...."

“Its Two: Three-Four A.M….”

 

 

03/10/13

 

 

To my very, dearest friends, and constant readers here at MDJunction,

 

 

 

 

I

 

 

 

“Its two: three-four a.m., and I could use a friend

to—perhaps—sit quiet with me here

until my shaking stops, and all of my most recent nightmares end;

and pause, to wipe-away a tear.

Or, was it just a leg cramp and a migraine that drove me out of bed

to find my way out to my kitchen chair, instead?

For I could use a kind, devoted friend to help calm every fear

until, whatever bleak angels I could summon-up, attend.

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

It’s two: five-six a.m., and I could use an arm

to hold me up when I cannot find my way;

one whose steady strength would keep me safe from harm ( or, to help me don my socks to keep me warm ! ).

As untold, ‘Fibro-flare’s’ unutterable agony blurs the sight, and makes all stationary objects sway.

To help me to the bathroom down the hall,

when a tired unsteadiness might make me fall.

That arm ( and hand ) so gently touch the crying pain away

and somehow reassures from all alarm.

 

 

 

III

 

 

 

It’s four: one-eight a.m., and I could use a voice

that—patiently—would ever speak to me in quiet tones:

“Your illness never was your choice…

You have nothing to atone.”

Although its very late, and, both of us still up,

please light my trembling cigarettes, and share my mug of coffee, heated up.

“Although you may feel so lonely, yet you have never been alone.

You didn’t realize that others love you too?  For that, alone, rejoice.”

 

 

 

IV

 

 

 

It’s five: two-six a.m., and I could use a prayer;

some whispered words of hope, from an ever-gentle heart,

to cause some lasting comfort to be visited there.

Oh, kind, enduring friend, please stay with me until the dawn…its greying light impart.

The medication—by itself—can never chase away all pain, all fear.

Instead…a grateful prayer, while said with growing sigh, is answered back, that God is always near,

and that—despite my often tortured, lonely pain—He will always keep us in his loving care.

 

 

 

V

 

 

 

It’s eight: one-five, a.m., and I could use some sense of ease.

Oh, dearest friend, how can I near in full thank you for keeping quiet vigil with me, ‘til the accumulated medications take effect?

For who else would—without question—ruin their day from lack of sleep, to tend to my desires?

For your unselfish kindness in my frequent hours of need, helped keep my monsters far away; I cannot help but offer you my love, and my respect.

The house and street—less quiet now—moves into another day, the twin to all the others.

While dear Daisy sleeps most fitfully on the rug, at fourteen, she—too—has pain, not unlike my own, which—unchecked—leeches life away, and smothers.

Remorse, regret, and sorrowed pain, will repeat an infinity of times I suspect,

but in your greater good, my caring friend, please know I wish you joy, true happiness…and peace.

 

 

 

 

End

 

 

 

Please know that I think of you so very often, and that I can never thank you enough for your having befriended me.

 

And, please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles