The Masked Man
I’m now confined to sleep with a mask;
and no; I’m not a super hero;
extreme sleep apnea has forced this task;
sleep comfort; dropped to zero.
Sleep used to be my means of relaxing;
looking forward to closing my eyes;
this mask makes my sleep more taxing.
It has been a most unpleasant surprise.
Circumstance and aging make life tough;
the loss of love adds much more;
sometimes I feel like I’ve had enough;
has God stopped keeping score?
“Everything happens, for a reason;
at least, that’s what my wife said;
Winter is now my permanent season;
ever since my wife moved ahead.
It seems forever; since I lost my wife;
she returned to heaven, above;
her loss continues to cut like a knife;
I miss the passions of love.
I find myself sliding down a steep hill;
yet, purpose still guides my path;
writing poetry has become God’s will;
I’m feeling his love; not wrath.
We’re much the same; under our mask;
our faith becomes clouded in doubt;
everyone ever born has a gift and a task;
God’s love is what life is about.
Monty 9/5/24. # 2,320