The hours, crawling emptily away,
Spit on my soul. How can I hope to see
A happy dawn invite a brighter day
When so much terror lies inside of me?
What can I hope to do, or hope to say,
That will in any way help to allay
The fears these vacant minutes violently
Have torn out of deniability
And thrust before my face? Could I but sleep,
Slow down and breathe, and let the hours melt,
I might survive. But still the minutes creep
In dreadful wakefulness, unseen yet felt,
And though I prayed the Lord my soul to keep
My mind was racing even as I knelt.
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