What is this low, deep darkness -where only apparitions play? My hands grasp and find nothing; my voice cries and the sound is soaked up. Here I am! Inside the furthest dark, and where are You?
O, be strong and steady – do not disappear when I reach out or go silent when I plea. Be ever with me in this dark- ever present in this death, Be with me.
Restore to me the hope of resurrection and the peace of a seated King.
You will not be shaken, and You are keeping me. There is no dark where your love is not light; There is no light that is not yours.
I am found in You, my light my home.
It's been a while, but here are some writings as my family lives out the grief and sorrow of losing William. I do not usually write poetry, but this was an assignment when I was in grief counseling last year. I dug it up to help as I sit with sadness today.
It sounds too easy, too light and defined.
If I was a better poet, I would make it messy. I would make it say things like "wring the numbness out of me / and never forget to feel the pain of death" and "break morning light on this dark day to vanish the chills of night" and "wrestle and make my mind submit to a glory bigger, better and outside this pain"... or something. I would make it tangled and I would make it have the harsh sound of typing keys. click click clackety CLACK clack CLACK. The meter would feel staccato with something like a long cello line running through it. And the edges - the space around the words - would move in close to hug the anger out.
And still it would read wrong.