Thrasher's Call

How frantically I fly from pain, how panic-struck my soul that flees, as though eclipsing dark ellipses if I just refuse to see?

As if I could quench these curling shadows, shut out the vision of my eyes, cut the darkness down to size?

How urgently I seek to eke a bit more speed from light, as though I could command the sun to sooner drive out night?

If I could only still my heart, find the peace amid fear’s slopes, perhaps I’d glimpse a ray from burnished faith: the gleam of Advent hope.