Of Courtesy, it is much less than Courage of Heart and Holiness, Yet in my Walks it seems to me that the Grace of God is in Courtesy...

Some mysterious phantom's sudden hand
Between the folds of night and sleep
Shakes me till I wake, and in the night's
Abandonment, I sense no form or gesture.


But some old terror still unburied in
The heart I bear, as if from a throne
Descends and takes over as my lord
And owner, without taunt or prod or order.


And I feel my life suddenly caught up
By a rope of the Unconscious
Held by whatever nighttime hand is leading me.


I feel I am nothing but a shadow
Of some form invisible that terrifies me,
And like the cold dark I exist in nothingness.
Waiting to meet someone how can heal my soul.
Or have I meet the one? I think so...