Fear in a handful of dust
Words cannot echo mood swings
It’s impossible to convey
The tingling numbnesses
Of grief on this ordinary day.
The semi-detached daze
The tight closing-in upon oneself
That foreshadows pent up tears.
The fear that accompanies the aloneness
In everything I do,
Mood meanders like an Ox-bow lake,
And can take years to gather to a flood-tide
To knock me off my feet
& gather to a greatness like the ooze of oil*
Life is composed of all the threads
of uncompleted hesitations,
Decisions and revisions,
into the passing consolations,
that always leave me in this bloody mess
Of sense impressions.
Each contradictory set
Of firings in the brain
Sets me on this rocky road
Black dogs swarm iinto my brain
like stinging bees in summer rain.
* from God's Grandeur Gerard Manley Hopkins SJ
The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.