In dirges deep I cry to Thee

Sweet sorrowful melodies —

Ballads that break the bleak Autumn air,

Like the babbling of babies from Babylon’s heir

Calling and cooing for mothers to come,

For fathers to come —

For Father to come…


Hard enough to sleep straight at night,

But harder still to gaze at the light.

Hardest still to know the light

And bask in the Savior’s glorious delight. 


When we are dead,

Dead and gone —

Dead like the dried, desolate desert’s dirt

That kills the plants and plants no earth —

When we are dust and darkness and dull —

When we are dead, 

Will You hear our call?


On Earth we were birthed,

And promised Heaven’s rebirth,

But is that true for us all? 

What of us, who always fall,

Who have never known relief?

What do we sow with our disbelief?


Why cherish the ones You choose to punish?

Why punish the ones You choose to perish?


Is there hope hidden in disguise?

Is it meaningful? Is it paradise? 

Or will my songs squander still,

Lost in the world we choose to kill?


Is there a light?

I cannot see it.

Is it here? Can You be it?


Though here I stand a helpless mess,

Up I look in utter distress.


I’m calling and yearning and hoping still:

Be my rock, my light and mill.

Keep me going these dark, dreary days;

Give me courage to listen and obey;

Give me hope and hear You say

That everything will finally be okay.

by BrendaCova

Brenda Covarrubias is a journalist, poet and freelance editor. The majority of her work has centered around news and storytelling, but she is now branching out to more creative outlets. Business inquires should be directed to brendacova22@gmail.com.


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