Awoke today to find in me
A penitential misery,
A kind of existential funk
Into which my soul had sunk.
i meditated, said a prayer
But felt no helpful presence there;
i did ablutions, went to work,
Where i felt like Beelzebub's filing clerk:
So much paper, so much strife:
Where is the God who made this life?
Why have, in a world He made for us,
So many traps been laid for us?
i took a walk in a nearby park
Hoping to dispel the dark;
With sunshine pouring down like rain
i was but drenched in weekday pain:
No dark dispelled and no curse lifted;
No Providential solace gifted;
i sat beneath a blistered tree
And tried to set my spirit free.
The spirit wouldn't come untied
From me, no matter how i tried.
It hovered by my weakened aura,
There amidst the battered flora.
So i arose and went my way
To finish up this brittle day
Amidst my office's detritus
(For time goes marching on, despite us).
Now at my desk, i've typed these words --
These hieryoglyphics; techno-birds
That fly through wires toward unknown Mind --
Perhaps you will some solace find
In knowing darkness will descend
On bitter foe, on faithful friend,
Who all alike their treasures hoard,
But can't recall where they've been stored.
It matters not: the light returns,
The day begins, the spirit yearns;
The soul begins its quest anew --
And that is why i've written you.
Whom else could I say these things to?
And sent by signals digitized
Arrive although they don't exist
Like sorrows, which, as vague as mist
Alight first here, then over there,
And pass like starlight through the air.
i send great tidings -- not great sorrow;
the sun will set, and then tomorrow --
With little time but mounting spirit,
And growing joy as i draw near it,
i'll live within each moment, then
i'll write, with love, to you again.