Dear God: Stop it.
I had a handle on things until You pushed me again. I’m human, okay?! I can’t deal with all this. Didn’t You know this pain would break me?
I did. I knew this before the stars were sprinkled in the sky.
If You knew everything, why did You allow this to happen? I thought being a child of God would be blissful. Instead, I am wandering in the desert trying to find peace. Continue reading
My dove, my beautiful one,
The night-dew lies
Upon my lips and eyes.
The odorous winds are weaving
A music of sighs:
My dove, my beautiful one!
I wait by the cedar tree,
My sister, my love,
White breast of the dove,
My breast shall be your bed.
The pale dew lies
Like a veil on my head.
My fair one, my fair dove,
—James Joyce (1882-1941)
The cup of grief contains such a bitter drink to consume
Burning as it moves through every part of an empty body
No longer is there any energy to even muster up a care
Surrounds and yet screams to the deserted soul
Its deafening roar an ever present reminder of what was lost