The Weary Flame

Title: The Weary Flame

In the depths of this arduous time,
The pastor’s spirit burns, sublime.
From pandemic’s weight, a heavy load,
A soul consumed, and love corrode.

The faithful flock sees not the tears,
That grace the pastor’s quiet fears.
With wearied heart and shattered dreams,
The ember wanes, yet love still gleams.

The pulpit, once an altar of solace,
Now a battlefield in this dire malaise.
Their words console, like whispers lost,
In a world so dark, at a terrible cost.

Aching shoulders bear the burden’s weight,
As flock and clergy together navigate.
Yet beneath the surface, cracks appear,
Yearning for respite, a heart sincere.

Over half contemplate an escape,
From this realm of sorrow, strife, and ache.
Yet still, in their hearts, a call remains,
A love for souls and heavenly domains.

Let us tend to the shepherd and the sheep,
Lifting them with compassion deep.
For in their burnout, there’s a flame alight,
A fervent hope to illuminate the night.