Parched, my rattled spirit
Flops on the rocky bank
Like the speckled Browns my dad used to hook,
Languishing, oxygen deprived.
Except mine is a desperate thirst for hope.
I used to swim in magical pools.
Quiet eddies and refreshing rivulet
My happy domain.
Meandering in pleasant, riverine existence.
Suspended in, surrounded by
Cool, clear waters of joy.
But now, “The Very Hard” has infiltrated my pellucid environ,
Multiple, polluted feeders have altered
The generous balance once enjoyed.
A brackish quality skews perception,
As the once crystalline pool clouds.
In this murky climate,
I do well to inhale slow,
And ease the frantic flailing.
Instead, focus memory, recount, and choose
From a multitude of sunlit, easier days.
When flourishing fell easy on me,
Like the nourishing provision of honey-sweet manna,
Without such a fight.
Drink it in.
Let it soothe drought-dry sensibilities
With the memory of joy
From His fountain of faithfulness.
And now I must learn anew.
I will watch for,
Learn by heart,
Commit to memory,
Any and all provisions you stock
Within these turbid waters.
This is the only way to
Slack the thirst or find my course.
Hopeful prayers sigh supplications
Punctuated by appreciations,
That I may yet again revel in clear waters.
kpeterson february 2013