He Woke Me Up

He woke me up.

I’d been drinking myself to sleep and numbing myself till morning,

And I lost myself in the night.

Yet He woke me up.

He turned sleepy bones out of the coffin, and made me sit with myself.

I tried angrily to sleep, but He let me not.

Oh, how I began to hate myself.

Love burned me like a vampire in the light of the Sun.

And the Son’s light is so beautiful,

But I wretched.

My breath is foul exhaust fumes,

My mind is dust and cobwebs,

My fingernails grimy and dry,

And flesh falls off my bones,

As if it despised the person it was attached to.

He woke me up out of my sleep.

He said, 

“Stay awake, stay awake with me— the Son approaches with the dawn!”