a jumbled reflection on competition, sound, and darkness

i hate that sinking feeling.
the sinking feeling rises up
to speak the darkness over this hour.

the hour lingers.
and round about the well-wishers linger, too,
not having noticed the time:
"sorrow ceases."
"sorrow ceases," they cry,
their stalwart refrain competing with the darkness
as the loudest voice to reach the inner ear.

lowly.
lowly in a stable,
this one scene competes with silence;
this one voice upsets the scales of bad and worse.
some sweet succumbing of all darkness to the Light.