O God, wherefore art thou
and why hast thou forsaken me:
I plead to hear your voice on bloody, bended knee.
Bowed head, averted eyes, I listen for the sound
Of choirs, harps or bells-
But only silence fell.
Not a whisper from heaven or a cry from hell.
Only my anguished scream:
"Come here! You can't inspire faith in you
If I have never felt you near!"
Doubt plants seeds in rotting belief
And grows resentment, cold and grey.
So many times I came to you
And, unanswered, crawled away.
I turn my back, the spiteful child,
Refusing to make another unheard plea.
No longer will I reach out to him-
He'll have to come to me.
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