The Tick of the Clock

I do not want this
But the draw is irresistible.
I feel the blood in my veins slow
As if to pool.
The breath in my lungs
Still
To the faintest
Respiration.

All the world seems to pause.

A handbreadth above
The western horizon
The blazing orb
Is swallowed by a hungry mouth
Of dense clouds
And has no more glare
Than the sides of a blast furnace
In the din of manufacture.
It is a dirty light
In a dirty sky.

I want to think
Of pleasant things.
I want to study the warmth
On my back
And the lush spring grass at my feet.
I want to drink deeply of the energy
I know must be here.

I want to live.

But as the sun comes to ground
Good is in the shadow of bad.

I know it is not true.
I believe the structure
Of the universe is in sure command
And tomorrow the sun will rise
And breathe life into the whole world
And this amazing light
Will resuscitate me.

I live in the tick of the clock
So tomorrow is a leap of faith.
I will eagerly await
The blush of dawn
In tomorrow’s sky
But the night will be oppressive
And long.

Come
Morning.
Come
Quickly.

I believe.
Help Thou mine unbelief.