An old poem, written to rescue others which is ending up rescuing me...

The solitude of life glitters in an empty sea born of hope
creation dangles promise on a ruthless horizon
as we sense fulfillment coming but never arriving.
To ask a question of oneself is to persue perfection,
salvations' journey being one of inscrutable scrutiny,
an evasive answer that is essentially defined by the journey.
But to understand is to accept that we do not.
Nearsighted, relinquish your desire to identify the blurry void
stretching before you.
Instead, accept your limitations and realize that you have
labelled them falsely
For it is paradoxes that weave the world;
strength laced and buried in gold.
Unkempt words can be like thorns in the mind,
But a thorn has the power to wake us from even the deepest
slumber.

Be still, and know that He is God. And He loves you.