On Hope

I am descending into the midpoint of my existence,
Fading into a being who knows only loss,
Running with the great apostle to go the distance,
And dying with St. John of the Cross,

The night is dark, but darkness has not swallowed me whole,
Lions encircle me, but have yet to chew my flesh,
Upon my knees, I know not of Him I do not know,
I pray for hope, and to be revitalized a fresh, deep inside my soul

The darkest night of the soul is upon me,
And spiritual sloth has no place inside this home,
The stars guide me to all which I can see,
But I am like the great apostle heading to Rome,

Far too long I have caressed the fallen sparrow's head,
I have been defiant against providence far too long,
Watering a fading lily, won't bring it from the dead,
Foolishly, I jump inside every grave singing my song,

The path turns right and slowly ascends,
An ant crawls and a single flower blooms,
I have reached the turning point; thy path bends,
And hope looms inside my heart, the empty room,

Even the Christ had experienced some sort of loss,
Even King David descended to a place we know not,
To crush the serpent's head meant to be nailed to the cross,
We watched in disbelief; but we soon forgot,
That even Christ had experienced some sort of loss,

Imagine if you will, the moment the light crept into the grave,
When the stone rolled away, did light overwhelm the cave?
Or did it peek into the darkest hole ever to be seen?
Or was it sneaky, like a sunrise being painted on the scene?