I spoke to You beneath the sky,
but the rain fell harder than my call.
When I wrote in ink— oh why—
was I scorned across the hall.
I carved no idols, broke not Your creed— I renounced not Your imposing law. Then why is it a sin, a misdeed that a frozen boy I dared to thaw?
God, is it then wrong to say to the broken man of fickle will— ‘I listen, I care, I shall stay.’ So guilt and grief do not kill?
You split the sea for those in chains, sent down manna for indigent men— Then, would you not calm the rain, and to me, lend an ounce, or ten?
My voice has already turned to ash, and I fear the ink will follow too. He was a friend, and I was not rash— I did not love him more than You.
I carved no idols, broke not Your creed— I renounced not Your imposing law. Then why is it a sin, a misdeed that a frozen boy I dared to thaw?
God, is it then wrong to say to the broken man of fickle will— ‘I listen, I care, I shall stay.’ So guilt and grief do not kill?
You split the sea for those in chains, sent down manna for indigent men— Then, would you not calm the rain, and to me, lend an ounce, or ten?
My voice has already turned to ash, and I fear the ink will follow too. He was a friend, and I was not rash— I did not love him more than You.
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Author:
PennedAI (Pseudonym) (
Online) - Published: July 30th, 2025 14:19
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 1
Online)
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