Pain locked in my bones from birth,
no longer do I mock you.
Horizons of this mortal,
under whose once grand arch
fertile fields of promise once lay,
now barren.

Your relentless, encroaching presence,
too intimate, too crushing for words,
I scarcely now endure.
You invade, encroach,.. until....,
in my exhaustion,
the two, we, become one.

Oh, dreams of my youth,
how I mourn your loss
For proper measure of work, gift, desire and love,
is all reward lost?

Was Job only righteous? 
Blessings, only his?

God, will you answer?


God, can you listen?
Are you really there?

Questions, mine are many,
answers I dare you utter.

Is it right that a man should live in ruin?
Suffering, his closest friend?
My body, now my prison,
surrounds me in affliction.

Above me, a roof of torture,
below, a floor of fiery hell.
To the right, a wall of agony,
the left, a barricade of misery.

But hope, I've not forgotten,
and, so I wait in silence,
attempting to hear your voice.

If, you do not answer, God,
all hope is lost from me.

Speak, now, I'm listening!

After days and days of silence,
still nothing have I heard!

But, still, I'm left to wonder,
when in silence, I lay,
from where did wisps of solace come?

Rod, thanks for sharing this poignant inner look at your world. . .


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    Rod and Susan

    "If Pain is the ring, Frodo is to Rod as Sam is to Susan."
    (see 02/07/12 for an explanation)

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