August 27, 2011

The spark has dimmed, maybe even gone out completely. I can still see it in others, and I feel, I absorb it into myself. But it is only a momentary light. Just a reflection of someone else’s joy. I used to glow. There used to be a fire raging deep within me. Now my fuel has burnt out. My muse is silent. She sleeps. She sighs. She no longer brings the fuel; she no longer makes the flint crack over oil saturated wood. Not the oil of gladness, nor the oil of sadness. I am numb. My ears are deaf; I can see but all paths look the same. All paths mock me with the same dull gray rain. I want to believe; I ask for help in my unbelief in the rainbow, even in the storm that brings light spectacular and belly roar direction, but I am soaked through wet. cold. gray. numb.

Holy Spirit, bring me new life…

Peter L Richardson