Yield To The Night. Poem by Sandra Kavanagh Josefsson

Every crack in the ceiling,
I could see.
Every mark on the floor.
The light was always on,
my bed beside that door.

The matrons were playing
their daily game of chess.
One lit up a cigarette.
I had no interest in anything.
Everything was a bore.

And when the night came,
It was full of dark thoughts,
and nightmares.
Reminiscing of the life I had before.
Left me bitter and sore.

Weekly visits from my mother
and brother did little to appease my grief.
I wish they never came,
It would be a relief.

Back to that room with its old furniture,
and barred windows.
The light gleaming through the cracks,
Didn't make it anymore appealing.
Inside I was squealing!

And what was my crime.
My crime of passion.
My lover had died.
I needed her to feel
my pain, his pain.
Nothing would ever be
the same.

And here I await my fate.
Everytime I hear those steps
in the hall,
My heart feels like a slate.
Time goes by so slowly,
For life I am always late.

I fear whats coming,
I really do.
This waiting day in, day out
Leaves me drained and depressed.
I wish it was over.
That would be best.

Every crack in the ceiling,
I could see.
Every mark on the floor.
The light was always on,
my bed beside that door.

Verse: Sandra Kavanagh (c) .20220219
Based on the film: Yield to the night 1956.