Everything’s going well,
you seem to have everything arranged
as you like it: you glance into
the banqueting hall, the chandelier
sparkles above the laden, enticing table;
there’s the scent of perfection
then the lights go out.
Worse, there’s a note
in the butler’s pantry:
gone elsewhere; you’re in charge.
No notice given, not a hint; it was
all going so well.. where’s
the fuse box? Candles?
Torches?
You remember, what they said
but it didn’t mean anything at the time:
when you’ve sorted it all out yourself
you’ll be like a different person.
Then - everything becomes a delight;
everything lit up and sparkling;
fragrance and scent around all things;
every single thing, its own special flavour.
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dark-night-of-the-soul-2/
