August 12th

“Why are you cast down, O my soul,
   and why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
   my help and my God.” Psalm 42:11

these days,
the songs filling my soul
seem best sung in that
lowest of bass registers,
where the hollow aches
make up the notes,
where the shadows of night
indicate where the pauses
should be.
but that’s all right, you whisper,
God-who-honors-the-starkest-of-truths.
for praise is not always
a jazz riff setting feet tapping—
it is a slow tread through sorrow.
hope is not always
that bright sun bursting
through the fog of fatigue—
it is the candle buffeted in the wind,
which refuses to go out.

© 2025 Thom M. Shuman

Venmo: @Thom-Shuman