A Penlight in the Darkness

When I was very sick,

My mind had seized,

My heart was frozen,

My spirit had taken flight 

Like a winged bird.

How would I survive?

How would I know the way? 

I had dropped my penlight

In the deep, deep grass;

Or perhaps it had gone

Careening off the cliff 

Just millimeters away.

In a fog I panicked 

And just stopped.

Would I remain here forever?

Or misstep

And risk the abyss?

Gradually, I realized someone 

Had picked up my penlight, 

And its soft gleam 

Still illuminated my feet

And the next step.

Emboldened, I stepped forward 

And took courage to look ahead.

There a hazy form took shape 

Who must hold the light.

We continued on,

And strength returned

With each step.

Gaining on the figure,

I hoped to say thanks 

And retrieve my light.

Reaching out, 

As I came abreast the humble form,

I made to grasp my light

And touched the outstretched hand

Handing the light off.

It was then 

That the thanks died on my lips

When I saw 

The ugly, ragged hole 

In that hand,

And my penlight 

Smeared with blood.

I expected the figure to leave

Now its job was done.

But on it strove,

Ever present, 

Ever loving, 

Ever vigilant

For trouble.

Somehow I knew

This Help had been there all along,

Watching, waiting

For me to acknowledge

I needed help.

By all that’s holy,

How had I never noticed

My Friend before?