When it is Night

Awhile back, I wrote this poem and while far from great poetry, the words are still as poignant as in the day I wrote them.  The words shall speak if not the style.    

 

Sometime in the Night

Do you hear a little whisper
When your head is on your pillow?
Do you hear a little voice
Haunting you with tiny words,

Or little things you’ve done,

Until you toss in misery,

Regretting what you’ve said and done?

You wonder whether you should tell

And in the morning make amends.

You squelch as best you can the voice

And calm yourself, tomorrow is another day,

And stop your busy consciousness

That whispers sometime in the night.

In the hectic morning hours

And the rapid afternoon,

In the evening a chat or game,

Or a fanciful dream you weave

And the little voice is drowned,

In the multitude of other cares.

Forgotten the promise of last night,

But when again you seek your bed

And in the silence of the darkness

Comes again the lingering cry,

“Tomorrow,” you moan in agony

Let me sleep tonight in peace.

Persistent is the call, which pleads

Sometime in the night.