An open letter to a non-responsive God
In the style of John Milton.
My Body, broken china doll, is cold
And every breath of wind through brittle Bones
Blows hard and fast, seeking those warmer homes
Dissolving from my Blood as I grow old.
A sense of shattered breath barely controlled
Which every Atom lodged in Flesh disowns
By heaving Breast which thought cannot atone
And logic could not bear, and yet condoled.
If air shall break apart this living Sheath
Which some high God created to be low
And I have been a long-forgotten child
Left too long in a world that lies beneath,
I will not my wounded Nature than bestow.No, I will be a Spirit, running wild.