Human Anger

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Sometimes, when I wake up,
I can swear I see Hell in the sky,
A storm brewing with a broad brush
To paint the day with pain.
And here we all are,
Under the same dome of the heavens,
And I suppose I have the same question
As many.
Why?
Why create?
To have the creation destroy itself?
I ask these questions to the sky,
Because it’s my default action
When I think about God and the Heavens.
I tell my God that I’m angry.
Always angry.
It doesn’t end,
Perpetually pissed off,
Pissed at the creation, pissed at the creator.
Why no straight answers?
Why few answers?
Why do I feel as a Faustus,
Damned if I do and damned if I don’t?
Damned.
War brews somewhere overseas,
Well, there’s a change in pace…
I wonder if God understands sarcasm.
But what else can we expect of our race?
Violent, unreasonable, unforgiving, selfish…
I have questions for God.
I feel like Job before God’s rebuke,
Yet, Job, a good man, a just man,
Had everything taken.
I won’t claim to be ‘good.’
I’m still holding on to a few things;
Perhaps, some spiritually unhealthy things.
Anger.
Human anger,
The anger that comes when questions
Are not answered,
When life makes little sense
Given a world that hates
And, on that, celebrates.

Perhaps my questions won’t be answered,
But, if they are, will I like the answers?
Will the answers ever be enough?
Why does God create a being
Knowing full well that being will destroy itself?
Anger only intensifies.
Why does God look on at the destruction
Seemingly with indifference?
Does God like the destruction?
Aaaah, but choice.
We all have it, do we not?
Free will, the freedom to do as we choose.
But it seems as though we’re doomed to lose,
In a world created for our destruction.
Why?
Why, God?
Why?
Why do we suffer?
Why do people suffer?
It seems that the free will of others
Negates our own free will to choose.
Mine is a purely human anger.
I won’t pretend to have answers,
I do not.
Those answers have not been given to me.
Perhaps I haven’t read the books as I should.
Perhaps the great library of religious texts
Offers some clue that I’ve been missing.
But that question of ‘why,’
It seems to be a damning one.
Human anger must not touch divine anger.
Perhaps God will be angry at me asking,
Perhaps I am in store for a blunt rebuke.
I wasn’t there at the creation of all things.
I wasn’t there when the angels fell from Heaven.
I wasn’t there when God died a human death.
I wasn’t there.
But I’m here.
I’m angry.
I have questions.
Human anger knows no bounds,
Even as the end of all things comes around.
I still believe,
But sometimes belief offers no relief.