After Midnight

She lies awake,
embracing her cold
forgotten child.

Waiting for it to stop
this discomfort
this pain
this miserable
crying hunger.

If she could just
feed it
change it
sing it to sleep,
she knows she could
fall back to sleep herself.

But the child's not consoled
not by her mere words
or just wishing
for silence
and rest

And pacing the floor
is the only way
to silence
the babbling voice.

For this inner child
needs her attention
before it completely dies.

1 comment:

Reboloke said...

I like this poem. It's so true.