There was a time I read unceasingly:
Never without a book, and sometimes three,
I found delight in learning and in words
And so devoured—even, almost, inhaled—
Page after page, book after lengthy book.
I sipped with pleasure from sweet knowledge-springs
And, deeper still, their fountainhead, the Scriptures.
But now, to read more than old favorites
That stoke, then salve, my melancholy soul
Demands such effort, discipline, and will
That all those books, of late, but gather dust
That I most ought to and most need to read.
God help me! be so firmly in the Word
And in your servants’ edifying words
That I may grow again toward your light
And linger so in lethargy no more.

There was a time I wrote effusively:
In moments between classes or at meals,
And longer undistracted spans at home,
Page after page filled up with pencilled text.
Both fiction—prose—and verse flowed easily
(Though neither any good most of the time),
And lofty goals seemed just within my reach.
But now, these days, though I still feel the call
And sense the story I must try to tell,
A hundred words seems strenuous exertion,
A metered line almost a grueling slog,
And story falters, lifeless, in my mind
Ere I can even think to set it down.
God give me grace! to write as I am called,
Not only when I feel the inward urge,
To bring these tales with which my soul is burdened
Into some form that almost does them justice
So someday those you call to read them can.

There was a time I prayed with fervency,
My supplications daily, if not hourly,
Lifted up to heaven in the confidence
That God, the gracious Father, chose to hear.
But now my melancholy chokes my prayers,
So that my fickle heart cannot but wonder
If my few, half-articulated prayers
Are listened to, or will be ever answered
(Though daily conscious of prevailing mercies).
Lord, I believe—but help my unbelief!
Teach me to pray, and persevere in prayer,
To ever seek the favor of your face
Whether in days of happiness or woe,
Like one communing with a faithful friend,
And teach me to obediently trust
That you both hear and listen to my cries
And are determined, as a righteous Father,
To do in answer what is truly best.

This poem has been a long time in the making. If my notes are to be believed, I began it “probably well before” October 2014, and by March 2015 the first stanza was substantially complete and the second stanza almost so. The poem then sat in that state in my files, with notes about what more I wanted to do with it, for over seven years, at which point I finished the second stanza, and then over the following months wrote the final stanza and made revisions to the rest.

I always welcome your comments, questions, or other feedback about this or any other part of my work. If you’d like to read more of my poetry, you can get my book, which contains over sixty of my best poems; browse my archive, much of it also broken down into more-manageable groups; or follow this blog for new poetry (among other things)—at least two poems per month through December. You may also share this poem with others, subject to my sharing policy.