Small Hours

in the smallest hours
when everyone is sleeping but me
I worry, alone, lost
rise to pour a glass of something toxic
smoke and worry
until the alcohol numbs my brain enough to sleep
I worry about much that's beyond my control
the world, the children, the misled and used


long ago, in those small hours
I dreamed instead of worried
of a boy
who would grow to a man
who would be my love
unconditional and pure
I dreamed we'd marry and live by the sea
I'd be a little wife
and God willing a mother
because our love would be so great that we'd have to share
Life doesn't always turn out like you plan


in the wee small hours of the morning
on a saint's holiday
I learned how cruel men could be
how they take so carelessly something sacred
toss it away
into the wind
gone
scrubbed raw but not clean
I dried my tears and carried on
but the boy in my dreams faded...
The nightmares returned with a vengeance
maybe if I had met you
all those years ago.....