Darkness Visible

When the meat aches
Curdled bones scuttle and
Crumple at the lines of nerves
Running — and through the body
All but sleep seems hateful labour,
Even breathing
Tastes of ash — leaving a
Gargoyle baleful eyed
Where once the Sun stood —
When mud is mud
And green is grey
And all the colours and folk
Of the day seem counterfeit
Fraudulent and false,
When each step might take
The might of Earth to lift
To lift all the world
From rejecting shoulders

And yet even here I hear
His voice

“The boy must not be proud,
And he must live.
For self-death is a grave sin.”

I wonder in which dream it is
Which I now wander in
So strange and mighty it must be
To turn the whole bright earth
Of God’s kingdom
To this infernal pit.