The Heavy Toll
I catch the thought before it fully forms,
The wish to change the shape of every day,
To reroute storms, to quiet bitter harms—
But then I pause, afraid that I complain.
I fight the urge to ask for different roads,
Lest I forget the blessings I still hold.
Oh God, the losing of him is a tax
Upon my spirit, body, and my breath.
It takes a toll that offers no syntax,
A crushing weight measured only by death.
The exhaustion settles in the marrow deep;
The promise of Your providence I keep.
I trust the structure of Your endless plan,
My mind accepts the grace You offer still,
But my own beating heart, the mortal man,
Is bruised and fighting hard against Your will.
My faith is steadfast, yet my emotions rage,
Turning the pages of an empty stage.
I search the horizon for the light of happy,
And wonder if that sun will ever rise.
Will I recall the color of pure joy,
Or are they just the stories of the wise?
What is that happiness, defined by loss?
A phantom payment for a heavy cross.
God, I need you. I stand upon the brink
Of what little strength this mourning soul can give.
I trust the deep foundation where I think,
But ask you take this searing pain, and live
Within this hollow where my laughter died.
Joseph, my love, I know you want me free,
To find the strength to lift my face and move.
You wish a gentle journey onward for me,
But every step becomes a thing to prove.
It is so hard to let the past subside.
I miss you. Lord, how terribly I miss you.
