guardian angel

i rarely slept some nights as a child

a little insomniac

a natural night owl

i would stare at the wall

and count the lights

of each car’s passing reflection

in the dark my fears would creep

but would always disappear

with every creak

of my guardian angel making rounds

to make sure i was sleeping sound.

and every night, around 2 a.m.

this angel to me would descend

peeking in to make sure I

was not too cold

always warm

always

out of the way

of any harm.

he did not know

he could not see

how i secretly watched

him looking over me

on every night

when i could not sleep

from eight to eleven

to even sixteen

the floor’s old creaks

would give me cue

that my angel was up,

just making sure.

but one night

when i was much too old

to lie awake

from a nightmare’s hold

i had found the floorboards

stopped its creaks, since

my angel instead chose rest

for many long weeks.

i wish it was

that of the pen

or that of the paintbrush

or that of his hand

on my forehead

after playing in the rain

i did not know

could not think how

it could be that

of his right side’s brain.

so my angel he rests,

he needs his sleep

he needs his dreams

while i slowly watch

the tables turn

the roles reverse

he is fast asleep.

but i still know

after all these years

in his dreams he makes

his nightly rounds

to make sure that

i am safe and sound

no matter how close

or far away I may be.

and still i know:

no matter what changes

with the hands of time

no stroke of the mind

no paintbrush can hide

no pen can cross out or rewrite

the creaks of my old house at night

that still ring in my silent mind

of my guardian angel’s winged embrace

who’s love the world cannot replace.

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