Daylight was closing in, and a gaunt wave of darkness
shut up the day like the lid on a box,
leaving us trapped under the ground
like people submerged in a mine.
We turned on the radio, and sounds of despair
were all we listened to. Clipped, sarcastic voices
spoke of the mountains of money
squandered and wasted; wars spread like an epidemic.
No one teetered on the hope of recovery.
We tried to be brave, to smile,
but it was all make-believe.
We were putting on masks that grinned
over faces expressing despair.
The world was in pain, and we were sharing the hurt,
made crueller by the dark. There wasn’t a way out.
And then the Angel spoke; his voice was fierce, impatient:
‘The only dark you’re locked in is outside.
At baptism you were given a candle.
Why don’t you light it now? What’s keeping you?
That one candle can light your inner dark.
Its flames can dance, its warmth can glow,
so those outside may feel a different air,
may even learn to hope because you hold it there.’
Rebuked by an Angel
Sylvia Read