Willing Spirit

by Merrijane Barton

Last night I felt as though with fingertips

I might dispel the thick and pressing black,

Or gently move the veil of heaven back

With stirring sighs through slightly parted lips.

Did wonder keep me still? No, only fear.

I left suspenseful sweetly singing air,

But knew that someone stood and watched me there—

And if I called his name, he would appear.

This moment in the balance could not keep.

I, eager for the faith to carry on,

In drowsy supplication prayed—a yawn.

So, with this plea, I softly fell asleep.