Sheol

The darkness closes in tonight,

                A weight too much for me to bear.

I dare not quench this faintest light,

                As the beast awakens from its lair.

My soul, though blessed with heaven’s love,

                Yet still the darkness doth embrace.

No help forthcoming from above,

                Alone must I these demons face.

Their grins of triumph haunt my mind,

                As gruesome claws attack my heart,

Threatening my eyes to blind,

                While yet they tear my soul apart.

“No good, no good!” they say of me,

                With voices fearsome, harsh, and shrill.

Not one night can they let me be,

                Nor can my mind for once be still.

My confidence they seek to shred

                With howls of glory at my pain.

I feel it better to be dead,

                Than wandering in this pounding rain.

“The way, the truth!” cry people now,

                Well-meaning in their ill-said words;

They know not why, they know not how

                Each day I face these demon hordes.

And every night the fiends succeed –

                They leave me battered, bruised, and torn,

Reminding me of each misdeed,

                The guilt and shame each night reborn.

Their goblin faces stay my dreams,

                And sleep has long been put to flight.

Worse and worse each night it seems;

                My eyes close not till dawn’s first light.

My spirit slowly bleeds to death;

                No help in man or god I see.

I pray with every waking breath

                The grave soon takes my life from me.

What have I done to suffer so?

                This tortured life is wearing thin.

Is this my lot? I beg to know,

                Or is it simply for my sin?

I groan with every breath I take,

                And like the psalmist, wish to die;

But death is not my choice to make –

                If David lived, then so must I.

And yet what demons did he face,

                A god forever at his side?

He would not understand my place,

                Alone and helpless in the tide.

Can nothing quell this wrenching pain?

                Can nothing still this searing ache?

I scream and beg you, once again,

                O deep Sheol, my soul to take.

Your depths are warm, compared to this,

                Your arms are tender, sweet embrace;

Your pits are filled with endless bliss,

                A brighter, better, painless place.

Now I lay me down to sleep;

                I wish no more my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

                I pray Sheol my soul doth take.