Hazelnuts – a poem by Michael C. Paul

Hazelnuts

I sit here in the awkward silence now,
sharing an Irish whiskey with my Fear,
a plate of chocolates, hazelnuts, and cheese,
sitting untouched by anyone but me.
I’ve felt this Fear for quite a bit of time.
It neither chills me nor gnaws at my soul,
but hangs around and sometimes pokes my side.
It is the fear that God’s no longer near,
that I have wandered out of God’s earshot,
who made the stirring music of the spheres,
and whispered Psalms and Proverbs to wise kings.
I’m sure I’ve been the wanderer, not Him.
I’ve not forgotten or forsaken Him,
and still I see the wonders He has made,
the grandeur flaming out as Hopkins wrote,
like lightning in a darkened field at night
or stars that twinkle brightly in the sky.
But feel I’ve stumbled on the bottom rung
of St. John’s ladder of divine ascent,
or that my Lord no longer speaks to me,
and all is silent, save perhaps the sound
of crunchy hazelnuts against my teeth.

Michael C. Paul is a writer, illustrator, and historian who lives in Northern Virginia with his wife, daughter, and stepson.