Melancholy, of late

It’s a minute to 2 in the morning. I am astir not because I can’t sleep; I could force some shut-eye if I wanted to. Besides, I can feel the demands of this corpora for some undeserved rest. But the reason for my vigil transcends what my physical may not readily grasp.  This is one of those moments when I wish the spiritual realm would just swallow me up and spit me back out into the physical, drained and empty.  How many times can someone be new again? How does one bury the dead that it may never have the chance to stir anew? Like how can a transgression be pardoned many times?  Well, only one answer comes to mind. Grace keeps us alive.