six-sided box of Pandora, with highlighted
pinks, yellows, red letters all aflame
you are the bane and balm of my spirit
for every line that gave me comfort
there was tied a string to some
theological knot, a snarl in the fabric of my faith
how many times have I had to justify you?
in my frustration I find you lazy and outdated,
an embarrassment to me and
to the God whose microphone you stole
and yet how well prepared you are
for all my devilish criticism, you have rebuttals
I can hear all your singsong verses in my head
you declare your divinity with such nonchalance
that it comes across as arrogance
but for all your suffocation and stifling
there are times when I feel I've misjudged you
many times when I have chanced upon
a bolt of lightning in your typeface
smoke rises from the incense of truth
and I wonder, for a moment,
if we could not be friends after all