a prayer of those who have been changed.

I seek to utter

a prayer of those who have been changed,

those who hold themselves to chairs, stained with sweat 

as great drops of blood, 

and seek to enter some holy of holies, 

but every single one of my thoughts becomes mired 

in a web of tangled overwhelm and rage, and I can't meditate

on pretty language to pretty it up for prettiness' sake, because it is, as I feel,

brutal; at least, I suspect it is, because

I can never get close enough to name its Origin.

I don't know You anymore, as I might have. Some might say

this is normal or healthy, that my view of You might evolve

as my life or personality does. Others say

that You are the ultimate constant. Or, that You should be.
Or, that you shouldn't be. 

My greatest clarity is found in what some might decry as sacrilege, 

which I cannot put down: 

I don't know who You are. 

Sometimes, I think I never really did. 

Sometimes, I think I imagined Your voice. Sometimes, I think

that I just wanted You to be there so badly, that

I imagined You were. 

Sometimes, I think You're breathtakingly cruel. 

That You set us up 

in a system we can never understand, 

playing a game, the big picture of which we cannot see, 

the trajectory of which carries us to eternal consequences that, once seen, can never be remedied, 

and that the only Way Out

is to believe in something that is, 

as You designed us, 

impossible for us to believe. 

and I cannot imagine, for the life of me, 

that this set-for-failure logic is that

of a loving parent; and, not for lack of trying, 

I cannot imagine that this is something

that can feel like a snug fit 

to anyone. 

This has never made sense to me, in years of smoothing it over; this

will never be resolved, for me. I can't do it. 

I am tired of trying to understand you. 

I am tired of guilt in the face of it's not meant for us to understand. 

I am tired of silence in the face of trust and obey.
I am tired of confusion in the face of though the (God-made) heart deceives. 

I am tired of seeing myself shrink in the distant, labored patience 

of those who believe

when I cannot. 

The word tired does not even approach how I feel

about faith

and despair

and responsibility 

and questions like at what point

do your actions invite those actions? at what point

did you, are you, will you, should you, shouldn't you? 

They're coming from inside me, 

but I thought You were there. So 

who is asking? The better question is: 

Anymore, who isn't asking? Of Your children, me included,

who isn't asking? And who dismisses this prayer 

as a curse? 

I wish, God, that I could give you up. 

I really, really do. I am done with you 

in my heart, and the idea of it

is the only thing, God help me (the irony), 

that brings any peace. 

Because it would be so much easier

to bear the weight of things

if I could only truly believe 

in the arbitrary, if I could see them

separate

from You, and what You allow. 

o god, my god, if only you had never expected me to believe

that you hold my life secure

in the palm

of a hand

with a hole in it.