This is it: this blanket of hopelessness
This endless dampened heart
This not quite here fear
of distance you can’t measure
Diminished & barely occasional pleasure
So little special favour to savour
Just limping through the minutes
How can my father be in this?
This is no curse - but its tendrils pry and push into every part of who I am
The to & fro of my soul. The cold of joy
The suppression of elation
Under the pressure of nothingness
Where is my brother King’s victory in this?
This trouble never lets go
It’s not for ever, but it rolls on still
In the middle of it I’m ill, hurting
Limping, stuttering ..... stopped.
Not me. This isn’t me
But it’s all I seem to be.
When will my comforter advocate for me?
And so far as I can go is this:
The father’s love endures
I stumble, throbbing with anxious inertia
Under the weight of who I seem to be
But his loves endures this
And he hasn’t given up
His love endures
Although seemingly silent
His love endures despite its distance
His love endures for ever.
As far as I know
As far as I can trust
Further than my enduring
His love endures for ever.