There is a tapping at my window pane;
the wind is whispering to me words of betrayal and misery.
This is my lot, in life-
to sit quietly in the night
loose t-shirt, knees tucked up to my chin,
eyes accustomed to the darkness.
This is the time when muscles are still,
where no eyes glisten at my turmoil.
My only solace is in the ferocious tapping,
in the hush hush of the wind.
My tormentor wears the guise of God.

Do you think the wind is always tapping?
Or does it only whisper hoarsely when the world is silent,
when no greater loneliness can be found?
I wait for the answer, listen for it, wait for it to come,
praying silently with knees held tight
and darkness settled in my eyes.
The guise of God is within me.