The Trial

Warning! I am not a poet! But I wanted to make my contribution to the flood of pandemic-inspired art, and I just couldn’t explain what I’ve been thinking about through fiction this time. So that’s my excuse for venturing where I have no business being; the terrifying jungle of verse!

This is not what I expected.

Perhaps I imagined I would battle evil,

Kill dragons, ride unicorns, ease the conflicted,

Or triumph in warfare like a knight medieval.

I might suffer and struggle but triumph, respected.

Then I could stand by my spoils and say to the King,

“Aren’t you impressed by how much I got done?

I didn’t need discipline, I didn’t need your rod.

Do you love me now? I did it; I’m a valuable one!”

Instead I’m stuck at home, not even doing that well,

Being stomped down by fears and wrenched tight with unknowns,

No dragons—just bickering children and diapers that smell,

My only connections through cold plastic phones.

Ashamed, I paste on a smile, lonely and bleak.

I can’t please the King when He’s given me so much

And I’m still unjoyful, whiny, and weak.

I’ll manage by myself, any help’s just a crutch.

But I recall—the battles are fought, the dragon’s been slain.

I fight alongside the Knight who already won

I’m not the hero. Attacked, I waver, feel pain.

He puts His shield-arm around me, His sword glints in the sun.

His battles show me how alone, I’m undone.

He knows I hold cardboard weapons (my bold-faced facade),

Yet my pattering heart he won’t shun.

But I need to see them, to choose instead the armor of God.

This is what God expected.

#pandemic #Christianity #coronavirus #poem #trials