I began this poem last night, Tuesday and wrote a full draft this morning. I hadn’t picked a traditional form to try to write in, but some end line repetitions and couplets with some internal rhyme reminded me of a ghazal poem. Within the Longest Hour of the Night What keeps me awake tonight at first I thought was only the crickets perfecting their love songs to which I wish I could say— I don’t like them! But what about the women? Maybe they think these are just what they need to hear, as the miniature glitter and sparkle of so many constellations set into sheet music comes alive, in a quiet way— But it’s been my own choices That feel like half-choices— That I’ve questioned again in my own refrain. Life—What has been my part in it? What little could I do better? I haven’t hung my dream catcher; I wouldn’t keep you long. It is not all about the crickets now— I hadn’t heard them for a while, maybe. Tonight I don’t wish to hear the sound of my own music only. But what if you could hear all the words I’d spoken for you, to God only?
Previously: What If?