Losing someone to the hands of death
will make you want to charge God for murder.
I’ve learnt to speak in one of the most complicated languages, forgiveness.
But how do I write about the truth when it has not set us free?
We have mastered to seek our brokenness in each other’s sorrows.
The truth is, this poem is a collection of synonyms that describe the word agony.
And how obituaries have made it obvious
that some of us will no longer get to experience the sun rise.
We listen to sermons in church
About the gospel of God and how heaven smells like roses,
How hell has thorns, how the devil dances to the tune of our sins
Yet there is no truth on how exactly we can get hold of God
except through prayer.
Am I the only one that wishes Heaven had a landline
or a hotline number for cases of emergency?
How many deaths of young people do we witness every day?
How many young bodies do we lay to rest every week?
Parents are no longer buried by their children, they bury their children.
In honest truth, rest in peace has become our new congratulations.
This is beautiful
well written. so short but so complex. i think everyone can related to this.