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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

In the Middle of the Night

I woke up listening to
footsteps where the dark was.
I ran my hand over the sheet,
a Braille that belongs
to the space between planets.
Like a stone
waiting to be turned over
by a gargoyle,
poking in the chalk beneath it.
I feel the lonely passage of life
suffering in its riddle.

I had prayed to be heard
before I slept,
and always
the answers come when I have fallen
to the other side
of my divided universe.
I prayed for them,
the ones I love,
and asked who will comfort them
when they wake in the dark?
Will they find the prayers
I tucked under their pillows?

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