Insomnia
by Susan Schwan
9/2010
Psalm 134:1
Praise the Lord, all you servants of the Lord who minister in the night in the house of the Lord.NIV
Psalm 22:3
But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel. KJV
Psalm 30:5
...weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. NIV
Praise the Lord, all you who watch in the night.
You musicians, poets, prophets to whom
Praise the Lord, all you servants of the Lord who minister in the night in the house of the Lord.NIV
Psalm 22:3
But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel. KJV
Psalm 30:5
...weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning. NIV
Praise the Lord, all you who watch in the night.
You musicians, poets, prophets to whom
the threads of waking dreams come.
You who witness the wing-tip brush of angels over deathbeds,
You who witness the wing-tip brush of angels over deathbeds,
You scientists who comb the dark air for elusive intuition
to bandage the wounded, hemorrhaging world.
You peacemakers, praise. You hungry children.
All you worried mothers and fathers.
O Praise the Lord from the silence,
from the deafening, claustrophobic truckload of dumped regret
which is delivered by the night-shift.
(I’ve heard the nocturne of the moving back-up beep
as I lay in my sweat-filled bed.)
O Praise the Lord, for the voice of praise is filled
with the mysterious energy of God, and
with the company of your dear and hallowed dead,
now almost visible under streetlight splashed upon your wall,
you build a vibrating web with which
God catches every tear, every sob, every whispered sigh
and with the inexplicable alchemy of what is,
turns it into laughter.
You peacemakers, praise. You hungry children.
All you worried mothers and fathers.
O Praise the Lord from the silence,
from the deafening, claustrophobic truckload of dumped regret
which is delivered by the night-shift.
(I’ve heard the nocturne of the moving back-up beep
as I lay in my sweat-filled bed.)
O Praise the Lord, for the voice of praise is filled
with the mysterious energy of God, and
with the company of your dear and hallowed dead,
now almost visible under streetlight splashed upon your wall,
you build a vibrating web with which
God catches every tear, every sob, every whispered sigh
and with the inexplicable alchemy of what is,
turns it into laughter.
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