The Nightingale
By Jess Warren
I’m awake before the alarm screams at me
So I can switch it off before it does,
Those screams of loved ones’ agony
That break me are enough,
The repetitiveness of my days
and the grey skies I see, expected,
I can’t focus in this haze,
And no one can correct it
I don’t think as I get ready,
It’s become a dismal ritual,
The hole in me is heavy,
But that feeling is habitual,
Step outside, to my car
I get in and take a breath,
To brace myself against the war
That faces me and the rest,
And now I’m driving to that place,
Of misery, death and fear
In my reflection I see a face
In its eyes I see those tears
Averting my eyes to the horizon
Determined not to falter,
Despite the sun that’s rising
My insides freeze colder.
I’m surrounded by people like me:
Warriors against futile odds
Who want to crumble to their knees
And beg for it to stop
There are beds prettied with flowers
Because someone has flown to the sky
But we work for hours and hours
Through the day and into the night
Written Word ‘Heart’ poems