A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Here,

in the darkness of my littleness,

it is easy to become consumed

by the black,

by the fear. Sometimes,

I have closed my eyes

to imagine Light

and in that dream world

for just a moment,

I almost believe it.

But I cannot of my own will

summon light out of the dark.

Mere mental trickery.

And then I stumble again.

My task is to try,

over again

to make my way out of this depth.

My trying cannot succeed

of my own merit

and it is easy to become disheartened

in this barren landscape that is

my little soul.

In popular opinion, this is how

stupidity is defined –

repeating again the same thing,

expecting a different outcome.

They would laugh if they knew,

if they saw me try.

Futility.

And yet it is not futile.

Your vision pierces the darkness,

pierces my soul,

takes pity on the one who cannot.

In this darkness,

here,

I feel Your touch

and if I trust it,

if I trust You,

You will carry me out of here,

but if I struggle against Your grip,

if I do not trust, and try to break free,

I know I will drown here,

alone and afraid,

with all of my nothing.