Upright Straight Awake
Last night I wandered in a dream
as dark as any pit my brothers cast me in,
and three shadows rose like men with hardened hands,
approaching as if to break the spirit the Lord preserved.
Their footsteps thundered on the ground of sleep,
and fear—sharp as the desert wind—
tightened around my chest
until even my breath felt stolen.
But I remembered the God
who speaks through visions and midnight stirrings,
the God who lifted me from prisons
and from the snares of those who meant me harm.
So I tore myself awake—
as one who bursts from chains—
and the dream faded like chaff on the threshing floor,
powerless in the morning light.
Now I stand, heart steadying,
knowing this:
Not every dream is a prophecy,
and not every terror is truth.
Some are only the remnants of sorrow,
shadows testing the strength of the soul—
and the soul, upheld by God,
endures them all.
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