Psalm For The Psolstice Poem by Josh Mitteldorf

I've come at behest
of the night, as her guest,
I am succored, caressed
By the dark, in this nest.

I've been buffeted, stressed—
Now the night soothes me, lest
I forget I am blessed.

I'll continue my quest
…but not without rest.

When I have acquiesced,
It has been from suppressed
resignation; assessed
better not to contest
what's forgone; I suggest
that's why I've been depressed.

Now I shed and divest
All I've won or possessed
(‘Things' were never my best.)
But I've often confessed
that without this bequest
I would not have progressed,
not divined that I'm blessed.

I would never have guessed
this elation, this zest
that was never addressed,
though alive in my breast,
was my true treasure chest,
my divine manifest—
By such boon to be blessed!

'Til my heart beats arrest,
while there's breath in my chest,
this be my mortal quest:
To engage at the crest—
…but not without rest.

All's a jest, just a jest—
Nonetheless, I am blessed.