Psalm 38:21

After days of rain,
it is almost sunny outside
and the clouds, dark and angry
blow steadily to the west.

The smell of rain no longer fills the air
and the faint perfume of lilacs
beaten by the storms, yet defiant,
drifts through your screen door.

Last night, you slept like the dead
but you are weary
with the weight of time’s relentless battering,
a darkness like rain

that does it’s best to rob your life of color,
to leach your joy
in an eternal bloodletting of spirit and soul.
You pray,

some days more from habit than hope,
a discipline of belief, and more,
of memory.
These are not the florid prayers

of ceremony and picnics. No,
they are the broken prayers of the night,
desperate for the light,
for God’s sweet presence, like air

to fill your soul,
like lilacs after the storm.

About this poem.

Psalm 38:21 was part of my devotions yesterday. It reads “Oh Lord, do not forsake me; be not far from me O my God.”

Tom