Make it ’til Morning – Poem


I dread, sometimes, they’ve got it wrong

And tomorrow, I won’t wake where I belong

This lovely world will be left behind

My days no longer lasting

I will, no longer, wake in wonder staring at the clouds

I will, no longer, imagine where all the cars go now

Their drivers live a life that’s long

They see the road ahead, not me

Viewing them in my tower of eternity.

It comes and goes,

It teases me.

Will I have tomorrow the same way as today?

Will I wake to hear and see the wind blowing, making trees sway?

Lights flickering with the leaves

A reminder of what’s really ‘steady’

An infinite, definite light

Made to burn less bright

A life not lived is sad indeed

So thankful for my memories

Perfect beaches in Palestine

Wet Greece in September rain

Summertime sizzling in Los Angeles,

Cold Austrian mountain plains.

Oh, then there are my lovers

All held in my soul and dear

I feel them in the depths of me

Keeping me warm through my years.

To my children, they’ve been miracles,

Each and every one

I love each of them with a true and caring heart

Our children, some close, some far

Will always leave a loving scar

Not one is undeserving, just one a cut above,

But all are filled with my love

Worthless and priceless.

Will I have a life that’s calm?

Perhaps a time that’s pain free

Will only come when I release this mortal coil

What a shame this would be.

There is so much left to do, feel and see

People ask, ‘what is my key?

Belief I say; so strong, it’s hard to see

It hides beneath the clunking hand which sits beside my heart

I feel it bearing down, choking the daily start

The belief is my beginning , middle and end

Without it I’d not imagine whats around the bend

I’d be stuck with clunky

Grinding through my days

I’m so thankful to have belief

That I’ll meet tomorrow’s day.


the end

copyright Samantha Harris @unextraordinarybint 2020


Make It Til Morning – Poem written 22nd February 2020

Written when I had a awful foreboding in the early hours of the morning. I’m ill anyway but rarely feel like I am going to die.

The poem is about believing that you will survive.  That particular night I remember drinking 2 litres of water, convinced I was about to have a stroke. I had stabbing pain over the back of my head. I don’t get headaches normally so am a real wimp with them.

I spent a lot of time that night pouring cold water on flannels. Using them to cool me down by putting them on my  forehead and also taking paracetamol. I couldn’t sleep properly as I hurt all over. The pain was breaking through my Fentanyl patch and my other pain medication taken for breakthrough pain.

I kept checking the clock and was taking paracetamol every four hours. It was just keeping my temperature reasonable but I was still extremely hot.  I rested in the bath with towels because the sweat was uncontrollable, the bed becoming drenched.

I tore my HRT patch off as my breathing became so difficult I got paranoid that the hormones were making my heart and lungs struggle more than necessary… I’ve no idea if it helped, other than to make me feel that I was doing the most I could to help my body fight off whatever was happening to me.

My throat was ‘sticky’ and I was mindful to keep drinking hot drinks to keep my lung disease from becoming too ‘reactive’ and my cough under control. Although usually I am on the toilet because of a bladder condition, I barely urinated at all, so I can only assume that I sweated the fluids out.

If you know anything about me you’ll know that I am extremely wary of going into hospital. I’m glad that I coped and sat up that night, I don’t remember writing the poem and came across it when I was cleaning up the table a few days ago. At first I thought it was too self indulgent but in the current circumstances of global lock down, I thought I’d share my fear of death.

Thank you, as always, for reading and stay safe (at home).