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In the weary hours of night’s embrace,
Where shadows cling with cold, tight clasp,
A soul whispers to the void’s deep space,
“I am tired, oh so tired,” with a final gasp.
Burdens heavy as the mountains tall,
Dreams that crumble, fade and fall,
A heart that beats, yet feels no thrall,
“Is this life?” it weeps, “Is this all?”
Stars, they flicker with distant light,
Uncaring of the mortal plight,
The soul, it yearns for ceaseless flight,
To slip away, to end the fight.
No more the struggle, no more the strain,
No more the loss, no more the pain,
A wish to wash away like rain,
And in the earth, to leave no stain.
Yet, even in this darksome hour,
A spark ignites with latent power,
For life, though fleeting, is our bower,
And every end, begins a flower.
So hear me, soul, so fraught with strife,
Each ending is but a part of life,
And though you’re tired, cut like a knife,
Hold on, hold fast, for morning’s rife.
The dawn, it comes with gentle plea,
“Live on, live strong, and you will see,
That life, though hard, is yet to be,
A canvas vast, a wild, free sea.”
So giving up, let not it be,
For life is more than agony,
It’s love, it’s hope, it’s victory,
Hold on, dear soul, hold on with me.
R.M Anderson 2023
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