Tears trickle down the frowning faces
leaving traces of painful memories.
Lost and alone,
a lonely bag of bones,
bitter over the damage apparently condoned
by a cold god.
My pot boils over with anger, sanctified,
spilling over in defense of a good God:
loving and forgiving,
gracious and merciful,
breaking chains of pain,
misery, and depression.
That is the God I know and love.