“Fear not:  for they that be with us 
                 are more than they that be with them.” 

                                                — II Kings 6:16

In the wasteland, there is no peace.
‘Peace, Peace,’ they say when there is no peace.
There is no peace, Lord, but that which cometh
        from your mighty hand
and mine are lifted, outstretched, and pleading.

Mine enemies lay in earthen trenches
in wait, their schemes a constant barrage
against the gates of my mind;

And I, no prophet, no priest, no king,
no psalmist with practiced tongue,
no David with sling and stone, let alone
the sword of giants–

Friend is foe, and thine foes are
innumerable, like grains of sand
on the coasts of my heart.

Mine own body betrays me;
        my stomach twists and retreats.
Mine mouth murmurs against me
        and the words I try
        to speak in love.

Who is like the Lord our God, Who dwells
        on high, Who humbles Himself to behold
                the things that are in the heavens
                        and in the earth? 

You are my refuge, my strong tower;
in You will I trust.  In You will I find
the peace that guided my fathers
and the hope that shaped all things
that were shaped.

                                  I plead You hear Thy servant’s prayer;
                                  turn not Your face or Your hand
                                  from the length or the depth
                                  of the day You wrote
                     
                                  as poetry, before
                                  the turn

                                  where I was
                                  born.