can I call you God? or god? or what?
I am sick. My soul is sick and I am crushed.
Are you there? If you are, are you good?
Are you to be trusted?
Are you the one I should be looking for or do I wait
for someone else? something else? somewhere else?
How much does guilt, shame, blame
fortify this place of thick, impenetrable walls?
Am I wise or even smart to hope when all I see is
blackness; sorrow draped in the sickly posture of dreams forgotten,
of light full shaded?
Do not speak to me of Job like the others.
He is a fairy-tale, a mockery to me,
a dream of dust and ancient woes
far removed from this Halloween of hellish delight.
He does not speak anymore and,
unlike his, my book has an ending yet undecided,
murky, unmoving like a lake long dead.
Perhaps no ending will come at all?
Perhaps there is no book?
Picturesque dreams no longer peek into sleep otherwise uninterrupted.
A mind instead, in broken time, refuses better context,
mocking lost memories of what I once thought was life.
When a heart bitterly refuses whatever comfort felt like,
to what do I cling? Is this to be my rebellion? My condemnation?
Am I headed for hell because of these questions?
the questions are hell enough.
For what it’s worth,
help me through one more day, this day,
if indeed there still is such a thing.
3 thoughts on “Prayer of one who is lost”
Never ever stop writing both sides Rob. The raw honesty is common ground for many, I’m sure of it. Thanks for sharing this again… I remember it well.
Linear literalists love (no extra charge for the alliteration) to decry the notion of obtaining theology from the Psalms. I say, to hell with that, our BEST theology comes from the journals of those who have actually walked and fought with the God of heaven and earth, otherwise known as…the Psalms.
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