942

Psalm

An empty church; a quiet afternoon.

I sit and read some chapters of Isaiah

But cannot concentrate, for all too soon

My mind drifts off from texts that don't inspire

To thoughts of you, in hope you will appear.

Silence creeps around me but the mass

Of clashing words within my head shear

Away the hope of any lasting peace -

A war unheard but raging even here.

Must I ever fight to find the balm

That heals this deepening wound, this lingering snare

Which eats away my soul destroying calm?

Oh for a touch, a hint that you will come

And rescue me from what I have become.

Brian Hick May 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 26.5.23