Burnt out (a psalm)

~ Pleasant Street

The night was full of promise
clean and crisp, a welcome respite
but morning arrived with burnt toast
eggs sticking to the pan

Jesus I need you when I lose hope
when my enemies,my own fears
my doubts that I can stay the course
threaten to rush the gate

A little peace that I felt in
the darkness
would be sweet
here
now
in the light of the new-born day

Published by Pleasant Street

Pleasant Street appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design. Around these parts people call her Rose. She is a moody poet and a frustrated writer of stories. Movie lover. Cake eater. Bread baker. She is still trying to figure out a way to use baked goods as currency.

11 thoughts on “Burnt out (a psalm)”

      1. Amen, sister! Days are way harder than nights, and I don’t even get much restful sleep. It’s just nice to not have anyone need anything from me for a few hours.

        I like how you used the two kinds of “burnt” to make your point. I’m imagining you feel like burnt toast having just popped up. I know I do.

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      1. I hear you, I remember those days with little ones. I had one hard summer when my first was 2 and I babysat 2 other 2 year olds and a 6 year old with no a/c. None of them were potty-trained! Those are the days when you dream of cool sheets and pillows

        It’s true, I did have burned toast. Somewhere I have a photo of toast and a handwritten version of this, I’ll find it for you

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