Soul, desolate

After Psalm 42

My soul is desolate,

crying out in pain,

an agony of night,

of mourning and 

oppression, bones

aching in suffering

and taunts of ridicule

and derision, 

condescending to warp

my soul, demanding 

to know where I am,

and why, and why not

I turn to the sun,

a light shining,

the light shining

in the dark of night

and I sing

Photograph by Eduardo Guiterrez viaUnsplash. Used with permission.

A thirst

After Psalm 42

A thirst, parched

a thirst, unslaked

asking when

eating tears, tears

leaving thirst behind

I walk through 

a desert, seeking,

and instead of finding,

I am found

I walk with a multitude 

singing, our voices pouring

into our souls, walking

to the house

The soul turns to memory

of crossing the river, fearful

and faithful, standing

on the mountain, fearful

and faithful, watching

the waterfall, its force

sweeping over

My thirst, unslaked, finds

water

Photograph by Dan Grinwis via Unsplash. Used with permission.