Held in a night of sleepless repose
And wrapped in a blanket of heaviest fear
That despite the bright, shining sun of the day
Have confined this restless heart of mine here,
I cry at the fiendish cold grip of the night
And shake my small fist at the words of the dead.
As I child I came to you down on my knees
And believed every last word of life that you said.
But now, I am fighting my fears on my own
And think to be wise as a serpent is right.
But the innocent trust I once had in you
Is fading as I use my strength for this fight.
Make me a child, and let me repose
In sweet sleep as you fight this war in my stead.
Let me hear the sound of your swords, not mine
In a fight for my love, waging over my head.
I am so gripped in cold sweat and cold fear
Over loves that have stolen my heart long before.
You turn over tables in a right, jealous rage
I turn a deaf ear when you say, "sin no more."
I don't mean to be foolish and wallow in shame;
My flesh is so weak, but my spirit still longs
To give you my battles and all of their pain
And let you replace all my mourning with songs.
A spirit of heaviness rests on my shoulders;
The ashes and sackcloth I've worn all these days
Are replaced by a beauty your hand has bestowed.
I'm dressed not in doubt but a garment of praise.
Your consolation poured out on my head
Is like sweet perfume as I lie and rest
In a cold sweat of fear I cannot overcome
Till I understand that you fight these wars best.
So then: as I child I come to your feet
In a light of your radiant holiness bound.
On a warrior-redeemer my fear has no grip,
And my chains of abasement fall useless, unwound.
postscript
Just how I have been lately. I hate it when I get some really good lines or couplets in a poem, but the whole poem is dissatisfying. I can't figure out how to fix it. But I'll leave it raw, I guess. It's honest.