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Poem

At the worst times
In the darkest possible night,
When the shadows crept
And the winds howl
The deep dark orchestrates a song.  
And I would like to think
That the devil didn't fiddle
But he sat first chair.
I noticed the band of demons,
And my soul was scared.

I didn’t notice the conductor.
And I barely heard the song
Bawled up in the corner
I cried and cried.
I didn’t notice the spirit,
But I felt the gentle nudge.
My hand was firmly gripped.
As I was led to the stage.

I wasn’t handed a violin, viola, cello or bass,
There was no chair for me to sit.
Just one empty spot
And it was on center stage
Where I was handed the baton.
Instead of knowing the song
The sheet was blank;
And the light came on.

Hurt took the piano
And aggravation the violin
Broken picked up the microphone
And the song of repression began.
Its not the song I wanted to play
And its not the song I wanted to hear!
But they were my best players
And their music my worst fears.

I would have rather hear Love on the piano,
And Ease on the violin,
I wanted a happy story
Where a happily ever after could begin.

At the worst times
In the darkest possible night,
When the shadows creep
And the winds howl
The deep dark orchestrates a song.  
It is up to me to hand out the music
And up to me to count out the beat
It is up to me kick the devil out of the first seat.


I wrote the beginnings of this poem this spring when my youngest daughter moved into the house with my husband's sister.  It was so painful.  I finished the poem this fall.  10/13/2018

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