Small Hope

by C. E. Chaffin

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My mind is dark. The darkness will not cease,
As if an endless night ate every sun.
The echoes in my skull form a reprise
Of guilt and shame for everything I’ve done
Or left undone, that catechism phrase.
There is no publicist prepared to spin
Kinder assessments of benighted days.
Sin means falling short and I am sin.
Yet somewhere in the vacuum of my thought
I  sense some inextinguishable light
So very small and certain, like a dot
That moves around and can’t be fixed outright.
I like to think this angel is my being
And not the Sturm und Drang that you are seeing.

C. E. Chaffin, M.D., FAAFP, is a contributing editor for Umbrella. Credits include The Alaska Quarterly Review, The Pedestal, The Philadelphia Inquirer Book Review and Rattle.  He published The Melic Review for eight years. His new volume “Unexpected Light” was released by Diminuendo Press in 2009. He also teaches an online poetry tutorial. Inquiries can be made at
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Pat Jones
Published 20 May 2010