I feel the pain rising, 
ripping through my heart,
rippling into every single conscious thought.

New wounds 
plunged into the reservoir
of old hurts and itching scars.

A carefully crafted self-absorption?
An acquired blindness from years of darkness?
Decades of rationalized indifference?

Who knows?
Would knowing make any difference?
Does explanation lessen the longing for who or what is lost?

I know this grey-fanged beast all too well
and know that every thought, every feeling, every tear
merely feeds its nearness, makes it ever stronger.

I deliberately turn to better thoughts,
to lists of things both bright and beautiful,
to remembrances of good moments and pleasant hours.

I go to a dark and empty room
and tune up an old six-string acoustic Gibson,
strap it across my shoulder and sing into the emptiness:

Songs of adoration for the God who sustains me,
for the Son who has saved me,
for the Spirit who guides and comforts.

Songs of honest confession,
seeking forgiveness,
claiming the closeness of unseen presence.

The emptiness disappears,
overwhelmed by the abandonment of self-pity
and appreciation for all that endures:

faith, hope, and love.

I will once again 
draw from that unextinguishable source of grace,
that unending reservoir of forgiveness.

I will return good for evil,
blessing for cursing,
kindness for cruelty.

Having put on the garment of praise
to raise away the spirit of heaviness,
I will walk in step with the Spirit of Strength.

And I will live in the Light.

H. Arnett
9/26/24