Sunday, November 18, 2007

Call Me Job

What of me do they desire
That Heaven and hell should conspire
To allow the evil one
To feed me a daily dose
Of hell's eternal fire.

Is it not enough that I gave Him my heart?
Must He give it to the evil one to tear apart?
Like some twisted autopsy
Performed, while I still am alive,
By some deranged René Descartes?

I beg for assurance that my faith is not in vain.
A word from heaven would be enough to sustain
What little hope that I have left
To ride out this torturous night
And see Heaven smiling once again.

I cling to the horizon waiting for the sun
For the hour when His will for me would be done
And He would be pleased that I endured.
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