Reruns

About a week and a half ago, something happened that made me think I was going to need to pull out the following poem. I wrote the poem two years ago in the throes of dying dreams and a broken heart. Although my current situation is far more disappointing, having been in many ways vastly more realistic, the poem has turned out not to be as necessary for sanity as I expected. However, in rereading it to find out if it would be, I realised that I quite like it, so I have decided to put it out here for broader consumption. You may, of course, already have encountered it two years ago, but that’s all right. You may also have forgotten that you did.

A Door in the Desert
by JAG
© 2004

I.
How did I end up in this desert?
Somebody said—
Somebody promised…
If I would only walk just a little further
And climb just a little higher
And try just a little harder…

Who was that?

I thought it was You,
But maybe it was just my longings
Trumpeting me into the wilderness
Where I sit in the mud of my tears,
Leaning against
A shut door in the middle of nowhere.

II.

My God, my God,
Why have I forsaken You
--when there You stand,
holding wide the door of Heaven
in the wilderness
where You found me weeping?
--when there You stand,
face blazing, sword flashing,
as if You
tore death to shreds only yesterday,
which maybe You did?

Your wedding invitation
Reeks of joy
From beginning to end,
But the revelry I wanted
Was smaller and meaner,
And joy mocks the seriousness
With which I take myself.

You didn’t blast through Hell,
My name carved into Your hand,
So I could stay there wearing
Mourning, and mourning
The fistful of desert
I clutch to my chest,
The treasure of bitterness
I keep for the day
When I will hurl it
Into Your glowing face
With all my little might.

But when I do,
You’ll laugh with delight,
And thank me,
Though I should be thanking You,
And fill my empty hand with Yours
And lead me through the door
You’re holding wide
I thought was shut.
And on the other side
I’ll find what I’d never dreamed to ask,
And that my new name
Carved into Your hand
Is not bitter,
But joy.