I wrap myself in night, that velvet shroud—
I have no need for brazen light of day,
Nor little stars shall charm me. I have vowed
To dwell henceforth in sullen shades of grey.
No food is savory to me—no taste
Shall linger on my tongue. No melodies
Can penetrate the fortress I have placed
Around my icy heart. ‘Tis a disease
That stifles every sense. I cannot feel
A tender touch, compassion, mercy, grace—
And I defy capricious God to heal
When I have turned my back to His embrace.
Yet—through the leaden sky—a golden beam
Shoots forth. I spurned my God, but He found me.
This sonnet is dedicated to all those who, like me, have found themselves mired in depression’s dark night. May you find the truth of Isaiah 55:13: "Instead of the thorn bush will grow the pine tree, and instead of briers the myrtle will grow."
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