Dead
Done with
You, done with You, done with You it was
Done with
dark feelings of despair and done it was
Difficult
it was, a mysterious difficulty to look like a cult like
Demeanor.
It was daunting. It was daunting oh my dove.
It seemed
dispiriting when Your spirit was gone, gone
Is Your
spirit. Your vision, Your viewpoint seems to diminish:
'Dusk has fallen already. Look, the sky is darkening,
let's go home.
Enough for today, it's adequate that it's murky dark.'
Is the beloved dead in the dark? Or is the darkness death
dead?
In obscurity, in swarthiness He leaves. Gone like a
song in silence.
Gone last speckle of green light. We are waiting for
daybreak
With a residue of despair. What have You done? Done
with it.
The nights are mad... The nights are definitely made
for dreams.
Forwarded. Undead. Delightful is Your conduct at dawn.
Abigail Valkenburg
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| Descent from the Cross by Sir Peter Paul Rubens (1577-1640), Antwerp |
