Whilst visiting him last Sunday morn
He willingly failed at being strong
For an observation of his demeanour
Clearly suggested something awfully wrong.
What have you done?
Who is it about?
When did you give up?
Why are you so out?
I have two dozen valiums,
he confessed,
Now I’m courting a litre of whiskey
To be consumed solely and exclusively
With said valium, as an aid and abet,
Determinedly downed inside my neck.
Heck!
It’s so frustrating to be believing in heaven
and constantly to be living in hell.
I have everything a man could think of
…and yet…
I feel very much like an empty shell.
Just help me with this last supper
And I’ll forever, and amen, go to bed.
Nota bene: Jesus is his Saviour!
Who? What? When? Why?
Where?
Where does he go from here?
To people who talk to themselves
and call it prayer?
Where?
To his family who more care
for him being who they want him to be
rather than for him even being there?
Where?
To us his neighbour?
To himself?!
Where is God if not in man?
Where?
And my voice echoes in my heart and ear
as the pain wells up into cascading tears.
Where?
Where?
Where?
Where?