Nth Degree Job Poem

When I am
hurting like Job–
children gone, job over,
health ravaged–
friends may come and sit
quietly in sympathy,
in empathy awhile,
as Job’s three friends sat
mute with him for a week,
before spouting condescending
reasoning that loads on blame.

Will anyone accept
my refusal to give up,
remembering Job’s endurance
when his wife advised
Curse God and die?

Will I stay sane,
pleading against
divine silence
till I enter the vast whirlwind
where nothing past matters
for I am reborn to see, and finally
hear God’s voice?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s