The following is a poem I wrote recently for a meeting of St. Meinrad's "Inklings Society": a group of seminarians who share various personal works of creative writing while enjoying the homey environs of a local pub. It's entitled "How Else?" I'll let you figure out who's speaking:
How Else?
In the Dark I walk
in stillness.
A low, deep hush;
I grasp for light.
In the Din I search
for closeness;
For some small touch;
A truth-filled sense
of near.
“Why do I go
mourning?”
Why do I sigh amidst
walking,
Searching?
God is
my portion and my cup.
Indeed, a rush -
This quenching tide.
And yet He has given
Me up.
With this is such
A drenching,
drowning tear.
I watch as I’m
dying.
Time passing by and
yet nothing;
Nothing.
But I trust, though
waters be black,
And thousands
crushed;
I am held high.
In Me, there is
nothing I lack.
For God is hunched,
Holding, calling Me
dear.
So, in the Dark I
wade.
In the Din I seek.
With a sigh I mourn.
On my path I die.
Yet I undo the hate,
And embrace the
meek.
As I rise at Morn,
Messengers on High
Greet Me.
Greet you.
You,
Yes you,
Are here in this with
Me.
No,
Not two;
You now share Divinity.
How else?
