From Above

A hand reached down from the clouds
holding a remedy tight;
grasping to it with all might;
promising me non-insomnial nights.

I saw this sight
and filled with fright,
but was lured by the light;
overwhelmingly bright.

This wasn't right.
My face turned pale white.
My lip I did bite;
with shivers to fight.

This otherwise invisible sight
would cure my fright
and send me in flight
to pleasurable heights,

but it's to spite.
It can't invite.
It won't ignite.
It's just a rite

from the creator of life
to put in my mind
the remarkable sight
where all is contrite;

and how it is my might
that must win this fight.

June 8, 1990