Most Painful Essence

When I do publish a book,

who will come to sign it, or look?

Will my voice be ever heard

a silent, furtive, plaintive word?

If I cried out God’s name in the night,

would He hear me? Lifetimes of Light?

If I prayed for the world’s healing,

when Evil—the essence—is stealing?

If I needed love to lend an ear.....

to assuage and comfort my potent fear?

Would it ? Would I? Should feel.

Don’t know. Can’t tell. Don’t know to heal.

I’m growing old, and soon withered

my youth is gone, to where slithered?

It was here, now it’s gone…

and the world’s soon done--

Don't go. Try to hang on.

just surviving….nowhere to run.

Pain is. Human condition.

All out of ammunition.

Do they hear me? Will I see Thee?

Most gracious God, on us have mercy…..

This poem was written on the eve of the commencement

of the war in Iraq. What I think is to be kept within me, what

I feel is complete, utter helplessness and futility.