‘How are you?’ I hear,

The question with which most conversations begin.

‘I’m tired’ I say,

A whole thesaurus of words ready for when I’m feeling more creative.

Exhuasted, run down, burnt out

‘Knackered’ as we say up north

Spent, drained, shattered, weary.

Weary is the one that seems to encompass it all.

Weary of distance, isolation, sickness and monotony,

Weary of six o’clock starts and stumbling back from work at 11pm,

Weary of days off spent recovering from the days before.

Weary of spending hours on end breathing through a fabric mask,

Weary of having to repeat myself over and over again,

Because nobody can hear my already hear my quite voice

Through the material that stands in the way.

Weary of lying awake at 3am, anxious thoughts plaguing my mind

Weary of stress eating and then stressing about stress eating,

Weary of the physical weight that worry casts upon my body,

Weary of not knowing if the symptoms are Depression, Long Covid or overwork.

Weary of muffled voices breaking up on the other side of the phone,

Weary of missing friends, missing events, missing church, for work,

Weary of my own inability to reply to messages,

Weary of the feeling of failing as a friend.

Weary of working so hard to be paid below the London Living Wage,

Looking back at a year of my adult life,

Where I didn’t even earn enough money to pay tax,

Yet knowing that I am still so much more fortunate than most.

Weary of headlines that speak of violence, oppression and death

How dare I be weary? And yet weary I am.

Weary of showing compassion,

Weary of a world so broken.

Weary of complaining, but somehow unable to stop,

That’s all this rambling is after all.

Weary of feeling weary,

Weary of life.


It’s a good word to describe how I’m feeling,

And a fitting word for the world too.

In a world torn apart by war, by conflict, by pain,

A world weary of death, of sickness, of loneliness and isolation,

A world brought to its knees by the virus we have all come to know,

A world exploited and uncared for,

What joy can be found?

Deep in the weariness, I remember an old song:

A thrill of hope,

The weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks

A new and glorious morn.

In the midst of the brokenness, the grief and the pain,

There is cause for this weary world to rejoice,

As we fall to our knees, overwhelmed and exhausted,

He holds his hand out to us and helps us to stand up.

For this broken world is not all there is,

And it is not as it was meant to be,

Though humanity has torn this world apart,

The weary world rejoices,

For he has sewn it together again.

The weary world rejoices,

As it looks to the coming of its king,

A king who didn’t grow weary of showing love,

Who looked upon the gathering crowds,

On broken humanity

And had compassion.

The weary world rejoices,

For the best is yet to come.