blurred and weary

The bland gray of monotonous days
trudging along with the heaviness of tired self,
accelerated by challenge of work upon work,
the heavy murmur of failure in disquiet ears.

Singing birds give a pretense of life.
But Spring has regressed,
sunk back into grey, chill Winter,
and any green is lost
beneath dirty snow.



Friday's darkness descends
and heavy clouds obscure all light.
What suffering, O what torment!
We hold our breath in somber expectation.

Glorious dawn of Sunday--
O what joy, O what hope!
People across all the nations
join in celebrating, rejoicing;
we recall life is so much greater than us.



Torrents of April rain
whisper hope of an eventual Spring
while dismal must-piles
demand focus of a weary brain.

O Great God, let there be hope in me
as in the larking, light-hearted air-minstrels;
let there be joy and trust in me
as in the flow'ring boughs.
And let me bring you glory with each trudging day that comes.


[amen]