To know that there is an Author of the world
Who is capable of designing the wind and the leaves and the grass
But Who is also capable of addressing you directly
Is wonder and joy
But sometimes terror
The great fear is not punishment
But being forsaken
As someone said
Hold me, scold me
But never let me go
Strange to know
You’re sticking around
When so many stronger, tougher people
You love
Have not
It’s not a particular talent of mine
But an act of grace
That makes me myself
So I owe it to them I guess
To see how it shakes out
But sticking around doesn’t mean
You’re not tired and scared shitless
Of what’s coming
Hearing the evil behind the good
All the time
Is tiring
It makes it hard to relax
During walks in the park
But it’s important to remember
That evil is the parasite
Not the other way around
Besides
Believing in God
Means it’s better to be defeated with Him
Than victorious without Him
Each of us must occasionally
Bash our head against the world
To reassure ourselves that there is life
Outside the mind
The trick is to do it just hard enough
So that the mind is jarred awake
But not shattered
It’s strange to feel some peace
While the world is convulsing
But my life has never been ordinary
I guess
How do you explain to people who are suffering
Whose kids are suffering
That what’s happening is part of a
Necessary process
And that the alternative is worse?
You don’t.
So you wrote a poem at 4am instead.
