I waited for Your reply. It did not come.
Then I thought it never would.
And the demigods to be appeased were
carried off by menacing voices.
How could suffering and peace abound
in intense and equal measure, in the silence
that bore a wretch toward extinction?
You set me on course for the dispossessed
bound for a desolate exile.
There You propelled me to the fringe, stripped
of what I had esteemed, Your perfect
garment of light exposing the fabric
of a well-worn notion.
You bore a care that dwindled
to an insignificant ache.
In silence You led away my reproach,
balm to soothe bruised recollection,
and carried a diseased hope,
for life and death are in Your charge
as I wait upon Your sovereignty, wondering
if she would survive the threat. He did not.
And she, an image of loss regained,
brings joy to all You have restored.
From A Bankrupt's Diary Copyright © 2018 Ceinwen Wilson