AWAKE

 

Awake

I wake at four

dark, cool, whirring fan

Alone

desolate in my solitude

unbeckoned sobs

more and more

I need peace

I seek help

I kneel

I plead

I listen and wait

I am comforted

Because I know

We belong to him

Every hair is counted

He has felt this very loss

This very desolation

And we are chosen

To suffer

To trust

To believe

To need

To try

To be sanctified

...