Morning Blues

O holy calm, sequestered in the morning light
That chafes the mirth and ignites the frenzied madness
Sweeping o’er this unquiet mind in gentle flight,
Expunge the vast sorrow sometimes, still, dwelling here.
Blurred vision, trembling hands, restless heart—shackled,
In the darkness of this black place, still,
Somehow trusting in the Spirit I cannot see.
For when I awake to that morning hush, reclaimed,
Having surrendered to that Almighty will,
And raging against that despair, still, praying to be free:
Morning blues away and of that grief to bear,
I lift up my voice and sing; no more tempting fate.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, filled with gladness
My soul relieved and passing through heaven’s pearly gate.

—M. Marcus A. Lopés