From the upcoming full-length The Cost of Poetry.
A Shoe Full of Bees
I’ve been afflicted and assaulted by my own blood
Coupled with a pension for this self-destruction
Caffeine and nicotine: the fiends that torment me
Replacing other demons; warfare rages on.
It’s not a lack of information, you understand?
The pain: too real for cliche’ platitudes
A good friend, well meaning, said that he was
Praying for my full and complete healing.
Job loved his friends too, even as he raged against their
Foolishness, protested accusatory diagnosis’.
And, I too refuse to pray and beg my Lord for
Something He’s already answered. I will not test Him,
Or live in disappointment from unrealistic expectations.
If you call that lack of faith, then you’re not living
A fully realized human life. For, the Lord giveth and
He taketh away, but either way, blessed be the name
Of the Lord. Blessed be His name.
Do I believe He could perform a Divine
Dialysis, and once-for-all time make me special
Have me paraded, poked, and prodded by the annuls
of a godless science, those who curse His name
And deny His very existence? Of course!
Of course He isn’t powerless to do this.
But, that isn’t what He promised. He knows
Me too well to put me through such things
Or cast me into the spotlight of celebrity.
His grace is sufficient for me. Even as my
Shoes are full of bees.
I will hope in spite
And, I will love in spite
And, I will bless in spite
And, I give thanks in spite
And in spite of death—I live.