The Sleep of Job

by Gary Yoder

Sleep, like a curtain concealing
An approaching whirlwind,
Comes intermittently,
Bringing a short reprieve
From inexhaustible anxieties.

Brought suddenly awake,
The night remains—
thick, oppressive and close.
In returning, sleep brings no solace now;
It is as dark as night itself;
Visions terrify, cloaked in shadow,
Swiftly vanish and reappear.
Whether I sleep or am awake
I can no longer tell.

I cry out—but what shall I cry?
All flesh is grass
And I am a mown field
Cut short.

Gary is a composer, writer, artist, and passionate lover of beauty.

Photography by Kenneth Godoy