The Small Hours

The Small Hours

In the still, small hours of the morning,
My insecurities come out to play.


Demons rise to torture, burning.
Jealousy once banished, for me to slay.

Imagination summons images churning
Inflating fears to castles gray,

Creating monsters, never learning,
Whips of despair my psyche flay.

Alone, I wait to face the morning
Contemplating feet of clay.

She enters in, truth discerning
Crystalline views of reality.

Scattering mists of unknowing.
Trust, the bright light of day.

Monsters fading, castles burning,
Setting then my spirit free.