My God, my God

My God, my God
 
There comes a stretch of the path
where the conversation dies down to a whisper
 
then further dissipates into a comfortable silence.
You are a child again, holding the hand of your Father,
 
(perhaps a father you never had),
trying to match His strides,
 
maintaining a delicious intimacy,
a silent communion with the Silent One. 
 
Your lips are sealed, tongue stolen.
Praise is superfluous, any request an affront.
 
You know there will come again a time
when life will crush a plea from you,
 
perhaps a query – (in good company) 
My God, My God why hath Thou forsaken me?
 
but for a brief spell you possess the aplomb,
the humbling insight that life is too much for you,
 
that the truth of it cannot be contained in words
nor in the bone-encased structure
 
of your understanding.  So you forfeit,
in that fleeting quietude, as much resistance
 
as you can afford with the wish
that one day your surrender
 
will be entire, regardless of any past or future
hardship or loss God has ordained for you.
 
O child of God, savor the sweetness, endure the pain
and hold tightly to the hand of your Father.

(drawing by Rich Panico)