I see you laying in the foetal pose of the anguish of a harsh reality, One of which you are undeserving; a pain that you do not deserve, wounds that ought never to’ve been inflicted on one such as you. I wish I could reach out to allay if even for a moment that brow creased with worry and hurt, to somehow rid you of the horrendous facts of life...and all that comes to mind is “ God should play more.” The line of a poem I have cherished in my dark times: days when I truly wonder if God does indeed find the allowing of the gross injustice to continue to those who are undeserving of such hardship, who have borne enough crosses without having to also be made to suffer an emotional lynching. Was Ian McDonald right? As i regard your stock still form...I look up and shake my head...
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