The world is dark,
and darker still it grows.
The highs seem more like hiccups, while the lows
are chronic, caustic,
catastrophic.
"Why this?" I ask.
I do not know,
and nobody
can answer.
The ache is sharp,
and sharper still it bites.
The pain stalks the weary like wolves
with dreadful eyes and teeth that tear
but do not kill.
"How long?" we beg.
We cannot bear
such agony
much longer.
The cold is cruel
and crueler still it chills.
The hands grow cold; the blood forgets its circuits.
Though the heart pumps,
it barely stirs the breast.
"Please don't," I sigh,
addressing grief and joy alike.
I wish they would
stay numb
forever.
But light––oh, light––is beautiful.
It softens, soothes––
it shines in the deep dark,
and darkness cannot put it out.
"Let there be light," He says. "I am
the light. Whoever believes in me
will not remain
in darkness,
but will have
the light of life."
He steps
into our dark, cold, painful world
that we might not only
see
a great light
but ourselves be a great light,
fighting back the night
until it is no more.