There is a profound, heavy contrast in the dead of night when the world outside is at war with itself. While the sky tears open with thunder and the rain lashes against the glass, there is a tiny, rhythmic peace resting right beside you. As a mother, you become the bridge between the chaos of the storm and the sanctuary of her sleep. Your fear is loud, fueled by the lightning and the weight of your thoughts, yet you remain still, becoming the anchor she needs, even while you yourself feel adrift in the dark.
The Anchor and the Storm
It’s half-past one, the world is black and grey,
The sun feels like a lifetime far away.
Outside, the heavens break in jagged white,
As thunder claims the hollow of the night.
The rain is frantic, drumming on the roof,
Of every fear, it offers bitter proof.
I lie awake, my heart a racing drum,
Waiting for the morning light to come.
The shadows stretch and whisper in the gloom,
While static tension fills the quiet room.
I’m paralyzed by things I cannot see,
By all the "what-ifs" drowning out the "me."
But then I hear the soft, rhythmic grace,
Of steady breathing in this dark-edged space.
My daughter sleeps, a port within the gale,
Against her peace, the lightning starts to pale.
She does not know the sky is falling down,
Or that her mother fears she might just drown.
For her, I am the roof, the wall, the heat,
The steady ground beneath her dreaming feet.
I swallow back the trembling in my chest,
To guard the sacred stillness of her rest.
The storm may rage, the clouds may burst and roar,
But I will be the lock upon the door.
There is a hidden strength in the mother who stays awake so her child can dream in peace. The fear you feel at 1:30 AM is real, amplified by the electricity in the air, but your presence is the shield that keeps her world calm. You are the silent guardian of the storm, turning your own anxiety into a fortress of safety for her. The rain will eventually stop, and the light will return, but for now, your quiet bravery is the most beautiful thing in the room.
