Sleeping

What If Faith is Not Enough

Folder: 
Oncology

When reality finally hits you it hurts
When the truth comes into focus it’s brutally painful.
Hope isn't always enough
It’s not always a happy ending.
What happens when faith is not enough?

 

I get hot flashes
My depression splashes
My soul is cold like stone,
the fear of being alone.

 

So now I lay me down to sleep
I pray you lord my soul to keep
Don’t let me die before I wake
I pray you lord my soul do not take.

 

I barely have a past
And may have no future
       Empty pages of a book
       A story left unwritten
       A life left unlived
       A hope left in the dust.
Please don't take me yet
Your mercy you won't regret
I am down on my knees
Begging you please
Don’t take me away.

 

At night I dream a misty graveyard
A tombstone the name I cannot see
A flashlight in the darkness
A figure so lifeless I cannot breathe.
Then I awake not as fearless as I may seem.

 

If this is my future
And if it comes to pass
And this breath be my last
Then this thought to you I cast.

 

What if faith is not enough?
Then life would be rather tough
With nothing to believe in
And nothing to justify
Nothing to keep you sane
Nothing to grasp when you fall
You will have nothing,
nothing at all.

Sometimes that is how I am
Falling in the darkness
With nothing to take hold
This feeling leaves me cold
hearted, soulless, empty.
All I feel is the pain of being unreal
No one knows how this life feels,
when you are so lifeless.

 

So now I lay me down to cry
I pray you lord you can't let me die.
Now I lay me down to sleep
Close my eyes without a peep
Never to be opened again.

 

Your body goes warm then cold like rain
Slowly your body numbs,
to your fingers and your thumbs.
As your body stops working, you feel the cold mist of death
And peacefully while you’re sleeping you take your final breath.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

My grandmother, a retired nurse herself, was also another very special person; she always knew that I would overcome my illness. Every day she would take me to the chapel in the church and I would stare at the enormously realistic wood carved statue of Jesus. I would ask “even though you look like you are in more pain than me, can you ask your father to help me.”

 

Then my grandmother and I would go back to the room and say this prayer together;

 

And now I lay me down to sleep and I pray you lord my soul to keep, but if I shall die before I wake, I pray you Lord my soul to take.

 

http://www.murder-in-oncology.com

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Sleeping, Waking, Sleeping! [Nursery Rhyme]

The boy slept for hours,


Like a little squirrel!


His mom woke him up thus,


He started to quarrel!

 

 

The boy stood up crying,


Then went to bed again!


Mom kept trying,


He started to snore then!

 

 

Mom left him alone,

 

With a little frown!

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Love for Sleeping

At times I tend to succumb to sleep,


Not for a long time,


Unlike Kumbhakarna or Ymir,


But for at least sometime.

 

 

Since constant work seems dull on occasion,


I wish I could fulfill my wish,


Like a King!


Yet reality is so selfish!


 

Thinking of the prolonged sleep is the only relief,

 

The mind gets yet like incessant pain stays the grief!

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tags:

Sleepless Night, Fat Cat

My dear, dear, fat cat,
you slept with me last night.

 

My dear, dear, fat cat,

you refused to let me sleep, last night.

 

My dear, dear, fat cat,

I am exausted from you last night.

 

My dear, dear, fat cat,

kneeding on my chest, last night,

I could barely breath.

 

My dear, dear, fat cat,

you may have been comfortable, last night,

but I really, truley was not!

 

My dear, dear, fat cat,

please let me sleep tonight!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem to my fat cat Pumpkin who wouldn't let me sleep 1/21/13.

She and my mom's cat decided to fight each other while on my chest, then she wouldn't let me get into a comfortable position.

Please let me know what you think!!!

Just An Echo

Night brings weight that lays upon
the bed beside me, and despite me
it finds room to stretch and yawn
while I am forced to yield the sheets.

Day brings reason to wake and rise
and to ignore, or dare implore
the burden near to improvise
and share its many unmet needs.

When it speaks in muffled voice
and begs for love, or something of
substance that will come by choice,
I see it's just an echo.

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As Mother Sleeps (Mother, Chair, Sleeping)

A big, comfy chair
sits in the corner of the room,
I sat in this chair, as a child
smelling my mother's, sweet perfume.

My mother looked after me
the best way she knew how,
she clothed and fed me
I'm all grown up now.

She sits in her comfy chair
and stares out the window,
lets the heat of sun warm her
thankful, for what God has bestowed.

Mother is much older than I
I'm thankful for the life she gave,
teaching me the values of life
even though, we had to scrimp and save.

Her eyes become extremely weary
my heart she had been gently reaping,
she relaxes in her comfy chair
I'm quite, as she sits sleeping.

Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Dec.17/2011

Come to Terms with the Morning

Somewhere far it wasn't midnight, yet
here tonight, midnight seemed endless.
The open mouth of the window whispered:
a bird, confused and upset, chortling
and beating its head against the trunk of its tree.
An angered, yet impotent wind blew
and rapped the broad string of a flag
against its staff; the silence ruptured by its ringing.
The feline, ever-woken, pads a place to rest
and digs his stubbing claws into the bedding.
His widened-eye attention draws to shadows
cast by our befuddled bird who cries against the dawn.
Caught by light of moon and star, he flutters
and fights to shoo away what's ruffled him,
stirred him and in turn, forced me to come to terms
with the earliest morning I've seen in days.

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Moonshine at Midnight

There's a moon among the lightning clouds,
its light abreast the thunder.
I watch with sheeted wastelanders,
as still and vague as flickering shadows.
But there is no flame for their cascading,
nor a source for sight beyond the sky;
the moon a pocked and beaten widow,
whose fondest wish is to reflect
the sun's forgotten luminescence.
I watch with eyes all caked with sand
from a folklore fairy that I'd regarded
as nothing more than a tale to spin
underneath this lonely, battered moon.
I'd lend a hand to caress her cheek,
if she were not so far beyond me.

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6.45 a.m.

If I could sleep through all the days and nights,
Till the sun burst open like a cheap beach ball
And spewed hot death that shone like fairy lights;

 

If I could sleep until the end of time,
Immersed in honeysuckle ignorance
And wake to find an I. O. U. from God
Post-it noted to my droopy eyelid;

 

If I could sleep till love no longer meant pain,
And the dreams I dreamt jumped ship from my head,
With that unbridled joy so fearful to name;

 

If I could sleep past all man’s waking
Knowingness, and find at the end myself
Untouched, as pristine as the Swiss Alps,
For still in my sleepy dreams I dreamt of sleep;

 

Why, then I would tumble through the darkling cracks.
I would answer sleep’s sweet carrion call.
For,
If I could sleep, and hope for nothing more,
Then would I have my empty dreams fulfilled.

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