The Night’s Quiet Hour

In the night’s quiet hour

I awake.

Sleep escapes

my tired head of

thoughts that lead to nowhere;

Now here now there,

no urgent paths to tread.

Just faces, places, tasks and stories

raising their many coloured heads,

their textured memories,

their wordless threads:

* A sister enduring treatment with concern,

* A friend who mourns his sibling’s early death,

* Another deep on grief’s grim lonely path,

* A friend I couldn’t meet today, from afar,

* An email I await and long to read

* Another to which I’ve promised to respond,

* A client confessing a deep held need,

* A world that hates, that loves, is caught in greed;

* The dreams for which the lonely long.

 

All these I try to hold,

To mull, like the precious stones they are

these thoughts around me, that

surround me

In the dark;

of God’s mysterious love

that’s awake always

with me, thank God

in the night’s quiet hours.

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About chrisahrends

For me, writing is a healing art aimed at healing me - and if in any way it resonates with you - that would be wonderful. I live in Cape Town, South Africa; work in the Anglican Church of Southern Africa and am married to Jacqui Macqueen Ahrends.
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One Response to The Night’s Quiet Hour

  1. Steph Guertin says:

    Chris,

    As always, you bring joy and inspiration to my days. I come here often to read your poetry and writings. Thank you. I hope you and your family are well.

    Kind Regards always,

    Steph Guertin

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