Sustenance

In the quiet hours, starts a humming to some sweet, melancholy song

raging then to a holler when the hours are many —

a cacophony of dissonance that drowns all melody.

In such disquietude,

thought and perception marry deceit

so I wait for you,

I wait for your presence,

your help

to restore the lullaby.

Herein lies my addiction

worse yet, my self affliction and betrayal —

this malady of postponement.

At that threshold between love and dependency

lies a space quite significant

that only I and my God can fill.

With these words, time has substance

and from them comes a worthiness

found only when one admits

both their honor and their ugliness.

I rest here,

unconcealed,

allowing for the discomfort of silence

and, in this place, it seems I have found

the only way I know how to be reverent.