On pain

My inspiration comes from words that numb, weaving words of pain as the total sum of God's failure to reach into this world and draw out all the sickness and sin. Ironically, my spiritual filling comes in this gospel killing, heaven denouncing, emotional spilling that cannot be contained, explained or directed towards anything short of heaven's doors. In the overflow of heartbreak, as we demand reasons, we question the creator as though he delights in our misery. The universal reaches of hurt, vast as oceans are swallowed by us alone, as choking, we gasp for air and curse the very name that put us there. The roots of loss burrow into our hearts, binding that which is falling apart, keeping us together as we start to realize there's more to life while these waters dry. Uoward climb voices, as they curse or rejoice the constancy of the author of choice. With passion we scream until our lungs give out, shouting at a God whose own hurt we doubt, as if we could learn from experiencing the essence of suffering, anyways. As mankind sways, ebbing and flowing between wondering and knowing, leaning and standing strong, He who watches us wrong the world is on trial for our pain. Though we deny His very name, He becomes the source of blame when the world shakes, or hearts break as names make homes of tombstones. Still, as we look inward not upward, blinding ourselves to vision beyond our reach, it's as though while each loss He feels reveals vision beyond comprehension of sufferings unmentioned, he'll never feel what I feel.