“A hole would be something. No, it was nothing.”
As my eyes witness the beauty of a grove of life,
With trees nestled together and the sun’s radiance raining down,
And I wonder what I’m supposed to see.
Surely, the ruggedness of existence has its moments of unadulterated wonder,
And to some that is enough.
But when the sneaking shadow of the axe hangs over the heads of the hopeful,
What truth can really exist?
Can the mother of a dying child take solace in past life, in love now gone, gone forever?
What small, sad provincial governor could oversee such a state of affairs?
The horizon bleeds with suffering and the wasted water of billions of tears.
Every dream ends, and as for me, I have woken up at night in a cold sweat.
I see nothing.
As the moon’s frail beams of midnight despair creep across my bed,
It’s another night with no one to put the warm hand of friendship upon my shoulder.
Ugly… stupid… worthless…
A demonic assault on the walls of my very mind.
I look around, but night’s paintbrush has obscured the room’s once familiar comforts.
If only there was an easy answer… A nonchalant miracle.
I don’t know why the hand of God hasn’t reached down with a heavenly dosage of manna.
Yet I do know that God sent his only Son to die on the cross because He so loved the world.
In this land of burning loneliness, One has given us refuge in the luminous love of his blood.
I can just barely hear the laughter of children.And so I can sleep.