I’m not a particularly good poet. In fact, I’ve very rarely dabbled in writing poetry. But a couple years ago as a way of processing some difficult emotions, I found poetry flowing from my pencil, rhyme and all. I shared it with a friend (and Twitter) a couple months ago, and that friend asked if he could publish it on the Conciliar Post. Since I was about to move from St. Louis to Bowling Green, Kentucky, I had to delay that since it was handwritten. When I got a chance to transcribe it, I found it needed more melancholy at the beginning to balance out the joy of the Sabbath. And some of the rhyming needed help. A very recent breakup inspired some new melancholy, too. Anyways here’s the beginning stanzas, with the rest at the link: https://conciliarpost.com/the-arts/poetry/sunday/

The rolling emptiness of a Sunday afternoon,
The deafening silence of a vacant room,
The brutal roar of a mind gone mad,
After years of loneliness leave a soul unclad.

Reaching a loved one in search of a friend,
An unforeseen blow reveals this is the end.
A vacuous pang sucking life from my eyes,
But after all else this should have been no surprise.

Disjointed and pondering, unsteady and shamed,
Bloodcurdling abuse tearing a heart that’s been maimed,
Crying and tearing the sheets on the bed,
Pained by a future that only fills me with dread.

Suffering drowned by years of neglect,
A soul grown numb longing to connect,
When out of the silence a trumpet rings clear
Letting me know my Messiah is near.