Thine name est me
I wake and sing with reverie 
Amongst the bees and humming birds
Nightingale, thine call me 
Slumber not within thine lunar veil 
And grow’th eerie ivory-pale 

Absent infantile creature 
They dismiss mine weary voice 
Alone I call to higher order 
Alone I call and silence
Thou sees not this awful wail 

In the quiet crepus’ creeping- 
I gather thornéd twigs and leaves 
To mine nested bode 
And while all are still a’sleeping 
I gather and I wail 

When the dawn comes, still I gather.
The others, dreamy,
stir from their crystal wonder 
I, wake, an’ return and sing my rightful tunes of day 

Restless while they slumber 
I am still awake
Turning twigs, and leaves, and blunders
While they dream off to some flights a once they gazed

Restless whilst they slumber 
I gather and they thunder
their torrential cantor to the glory rays.
I gather now amidst the dawn time  
I gather as the jaded moon look’d on 
And for a moment, falltst to slumber . . .
But then quickly, do I wake. 

For gather, I 
And gather more 
But to my nest, these twigs refuse to stay! 
And thrice I build and thrice it falls 
And I remember not from whence I came
Starry eyed and pondering 
Wing by wing, I fly away 
Gather more and gather I 
But thrice mine leaves do blow astray 
And hence do I remember not where last the remnants of the leaves or twigs I raked  
Scattered lay and collect I not 
The corps’d silk of arboreal bygone May  
Hither I, a moment, in mine triumph of the day 
To solace in the darkness 
Before soon I do make haste 

Gather I, sole nightingale 
Whilst freckled finch, lark, and robin gay do hailst their aerie tours  
Gather I and gather more 
And still to mine nest 
Hold not mine soars of moonshine sowing  
Sow that keep’th me a’lorn 
My soul and wing’d psalms 
Sow plentiful and reap est not 
Do I,  
From dawn to dusk to dawn!

This is a poem I wrote about what it feels like to have severe ADHD. Often the intensity of work that we output does not show forth onto others, and that pain is also invisible to outward eyes as well. Though people may see the beauty that we possess (our creativity, our unique voices, our ethic) they don’t see nor hear the inner ‘wail’ that is incessantly calling us. Despite the nightingale’s ability to fly, the expectations of society keep her grounded. She seems to be almost a creature of the land, an agrarian laborer (e.g. the concept of sewing and reaping juxtaposed against her companions aerial tours). If you also suffer with ADHD, please know that your ethic of work and character do show forth. Our ‘nests’, our production value is not what defines us. Sometimes the beauty of a person is in how they face a struggle. I truly believe that those things that we most struggle with . . .our also the things in which we find our greatest strength. Vices can be virtues. A tragic flaw is also a heroic trait. The difference between a comedy, an epic, or a tragedy is how you perceive and respond to this unique area of yourself. Also, if you’re a faithful . . . or not! . . . know that God takes the weak and makes them strong. If you feel that you can not take another step in your journey forward and that you don’t have the strength to accomplish your calling. He will vitalize you, he will supply you with all that you need to overcome!

Isaiah 40:29-31
29 He gives strength to the weary
and increases the power of the weak.
30 Even youths grow tired and weary,
and young men stumble and fall;
31 but those who hope in the Lord
will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
they will run and not grow weary,
they will walk and not be faint.

Published by Silent Singer

The Silent Singer

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