“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.”
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Isaiah 9:2

In the deep where sunlight cannot go—

the place where whispers creep and tremors grow—

we people whither in the hearts we know.

We own that steeps to virtue slide to hell—

we are the heap of bones that climbed and fell—

we weep inside the secrets none can tell. 

We weep and creep and leap and steep and sleep,

but nothing drives the darkness from our deep. 

Oh, misery—the steady thrum of death

that hums inside the head and drags each breath

from ragged, heaving lungs! The questions run

and run and run, but when the answers come,

they bite: you will never walk in white.

Not you who walk and talk and rot in night. 

But to the deep where sunlight cannot go—

a peal from heaven whispers peace and hope

to people withered from their sins. He knows

the slippery, winding steeps to virtue well.

He minds, too, the secrets we don’t tell

and moves toward us—the heaps of bones—who fell. 

He’ll keep the law and weep our tears and reap

the banishment of darkness from our deep.  

Oh, mercy! The voice of God rings out—

that gracious, pure, triumphant, glorious shout:

“LET THERE BE LIGHT!” And there was light—

again—in the cold and dark of Bethlehem’s night.

“LET THERE BE LIGHT!” And there can be light—

in the hold of darkness where you weep tonight.