Catharsis

ca·thar·sis
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noun, plural ca·thar·ses .
1. the purging of the emotions or relieving of emotional tensions, especially through certain kinds of art, as tragedy or music.

For me, poetry is a catharsis. This is my process today.


Desert Thoughts


Your silence unending, it grates at my soul.
When I don’t feel Your presence, I do not feel whole.
The ache of my existence, is all that I feel
Though I know that You are, You just don’t seem real.

No witness I bear is even worthy to see.
As I struggle up under just being me.
No woman of faith is even reflected at all
My faith once loomed large, now it seems small.

How do You bear with me in this unending wait?
Turning up the heat, purifying each ungodly trait.
So much of my “self” that You must strip away,
Will I ever be useful, will there ever be a day?

Taking it all, plans and hopes, and dreams,
Each stripped away, I come apart at the seams.
I ache in this desert, its heat does not bend,
If I survive this season who will I be in the end?

This surgical season, I feel held in my place,
A moment of relief if I could just see Your face.
Instead I feel held down, unable to move,
No affirmation of hope, my faith I can’t prove.

You’re here and You’re good, these things I know,
But in the midst of the desert it doesn’t always seem so.
I can’t help but wonder is it my fault I’m here?
Did I wander off track? Where did I veer?

I’ve searched unto weariness, sought to despair,
I must keep remembering, I know that You care.
I long for the days when I sensed You were near,
I’d give anything, Lord, if I could just feel You here.

In Your silence there’s purpose; You must have a plan.
I only hope that this season is one my faith can withstand.
To give up is my desire, but You won’t let me go.
Is there a new hope ahead, one I just don’t yet know?

I feel crazy sometimes, is that what others see?
I wear the misconceptions that others have of me.
It adds to my burden as this desert I try to cross,
Damage to my reputation, respect that I have lost.

I try to look back and recall what You’ve done,
Other seasons were hard; other seasons weren’t fun.
You have always been faithful, You’ve kept every word.
Every promise was met, both written and heard.

I know You are good, and so must be Your plan,
But still I am weary, and unable to stand.
Perhaps the end of my self is what You are seeking,
Will I be ready when You finally start speaking?

You will speak again, won’t You Father? I pray.
I hope that it comes, in a not too distant day.
A word of refreshing, something I can take in,
Something to hydrate, my faith wearing thin.

Living water I long for, from You to my soul,
Your presence evident, make me feel whole.
Here I go again, with my agenda and plan,
Right back where we started, where we began.

You said it Yourself, You’re the potter; I’m the clay.
Who I am I to question what You do or You say?
Useful or not is determined by You.
Only You can define what is real and is true.

The vessel I’ll be is for You to decide,
Forming and shaping, You are the Guide.
Even off of the table, thrown back in the dirt,
My will You will not let the process pervert.

No matter how I fight, resisting Your plan,
There’s no overcoming Your firm, loving hand.
You’ll outwait me forever if that’s what must be,
No change in the vision that You alone see.

This desert is a pathway to what You have planned,
So I must continue on and bend to Your hand.
No hope for “ahead” but I cannot stay here,
I just must press ahead and pray that things clear.

You are God, You are good – this much I know.
Desert or flood, they are Yours to bestow.
All for Your purpose, for all that You’ve planned,
Even when I just simply don’t understand.

You are God, You are good – this much I know.
Desert or flood, they are Yours to bestow.

By Diana DePriest
© July 8, 2013