I don’t need to look far to find
My enemies. They are right here,
Sitting at my right and left,
Snapping with dull teeth, shaking me down,
Faces all pallid as bone;
Hotscrabble, grasping, devious as hell.
They kick a shallow hole and lay me down in it.
They have told me lies, but I can’t tell which ones.
Lord, contend with them.
I never thought I’d need the hew
And hem of battle, but here I am.
Bind your buckler on your arm.
Lay about me left and right—
Shield, sword, and holy spear.
Prove you are my salvation.
Run your fleet fork through them.
Send your winnow wind to whip
The chaff away. Billow and break
Their limelight laughter at my expense.
Hunt them. Hound them.
Rattle them down.
Tip them into their own pits.
Toss them into the teeth of their own plans.
They hunted me for nothing.
My innocence only drew them on.
Lord, when will it be enough?
When they were afflicted, I stood in their stead
In the mouth of the thresher.
I wore sackcloth and prayed.
They slipped, and I was shaken.
I gave freely what they would have taken.
I lost ground. I tumbled down.
I fasted for nights. I didn’t sleep.
I carved their names into every moment of my day
And clutched their affliction close to my heart.
But the moment I slipped,
I saw the gleam of teeth in all their wild words.
Everyone laughed and blamed me.
They marked the day my strength failed
So that it would not be forgotten.
They kept it like a holy day,
Gathering each year to drink
To the time my hope ran out.
How long will this go on?
When will you come to the final number
Of the long count of days
We have waited for justice?
I only wanted rest.
I only wanted the quiet to settle
Down around me in circles.
But now people I never met use my name
To pick the meat from their teeth.
They wink at each other and spit gristle
And crack my soul’s bones.
They chew my secrets and say,
“We swallowed him up
And it was delicious.”
I know you are not sleeping, God.
You are not absent or busy.
You see all of this, so why keep silent?
Your prophets have always been
Too paltry to stand up for themselves.
Give me back the years I lost.
Pry open grief’s grasping hands.
Pass my enemies back a double portion
For each brittle, bated night I half went mad.
Lord, you let your people suffer,
But you do not let us lose.
Enough. Draw this to a close.
Make happiness and peace return to me
Like birds to eat from my hands.
Set down at last the long last line:
“The Lord saves the humble because goodness is ever his delight.”
Find more of The Darkling Psalter at darklingpsalter.substack.com
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