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Midnight Blues

Discouraged by life, there are times my vessel is depleted and I want to die.

Discouraged by life there

are times my vessel is

depleted and I want to die.

In those moments

when the tank is nearly drained,

delirious thoughts flow.

At midnight on this Oahu beach

I hear a thousand roosters crow

canceling the sound of ocean waves,

Placing headphones over ear plugs, I ask

come sweet sleep and escort tinnitus away

putting thoughts of sabotage to rest,

When sleep deprivation is endless,

like Niagara Falls I want to pull the plug,

and end it all.

When the HVAC won’t cut off

and partner’s snoring never ends

I want to push pause and escape.

Demented thoughts fill the tenth floor

though tempting I dare not step

beyond that open doorway,

It would be too easy to take a leap,

and prove what they always

said, “I knew he was crazy!”

but that is not my legacy.

Can’t let my kids grieve for eternity,

because they’d never know why

or allow my wife to wonder,

“What did I do?”

Though enticing I keep myself

from the sliding door, knowing

that path would be painful.

Finally dawn comes through the crucible of despair

lifting the veil leading to the warm green light

where I’m comforted by blankets of love.

I write because nothing has been easy.

It’s not easy now. But that’s ok because

I am alive and this is the breakthrough.

I write for all the unhinged souls

who needed one more hour of sleep

before they passed through sanctuary’s door.

For the story tellers with unbearable pain, I live.

For those with PTSD who couldn’t help themselves, I live.

For the bridge jumper, mainliner and over the cliff seekers, I live.

For those who never had a voice because the hurt

was overwhelming, I live.


Elisabeth Iler
Elisabeth Iler
Aug 02, 2022

Beautiful poem, Jerome. God have mercy on our souls….


My eyes screamed STOP! By Mushroom Montoya My eyes screamed STOP! As I stood my battle station watch Aboard my ship on the Viet Nam gunline,

Bearing guilt-riddled witness

To teenage bodies we're blasting apart. God have mercy on our souls! Our five inch gun turning mothers, And the few surviving fathers Into forever grievers. The Vietnamese farmers and fishermen Are God's children Too

God have mercy on our souls. I cry for those mothers and fathers And can't help but wonder Is my dead son the price I pay because "Thou shalt not kill" I felt duty-bound to disobey?

God have mercy on our souls. Even though more than 50 years have passed A maleficent thought continues to slash My sense of time and where I am, Sending me back to Viet Nam. God have mercy…

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