Poetry - In the Wee Hours

Photo by Matheus Vinicius on Unsplash
In the Wee Hours

The nudge arrives unexpectly.
In the quiet inky dark solitary times
Known as the witching hours,
Sometime after the clock tolls midnight.
A battle between dreams and reality begins.
Which side will win this time?

First my body rouses.
Sometimes startled awake,
Others times begrudging and fighting.
When ignoring the nudge triumphs
I gratefully return to slumber.
When dreamland recedes, I lose.

My mind awakens to foul whispers 
Old memories rise to the surface. 
Emotions stir - mostly of regret.
The witching hour is not often kind,
Rarely bringing beautiful memories.
It offers a buffet of regret and self-doubt.

Great sadness engulfs my soul.
Tears well up, then spill down my cheeks.
An onslaught of darkness overwhelms me.
"If only," becomes my mantra.
If only I hadn't, if only could go back.
If only....If only...If only.

Time moves at a snail's pace while
The relentless whispering continues
On into the gray mist before dawn where
The damning voices finally run dry and
Peaceful silence offers a welcome balm.
I breathe deep, then sigh in relief. 

My husband turns and cocoons me.
Wrapping my body gently in his arms,
I fade off as the stress falls away. 
Again unconscious and defenseless.
Drifting in the dreamscape flowing
Ceaselessly through my soul.