a little girl whose fated to die
lying in bed coughing up blood
and tears flow from her mother’s eyes
it all becomes an ocean, a flood…

men in white coats probe her
like some sick alien abduction joke
no-one can heal her
and the prayers are all tear-soaked

men with no answers just mumble
that it is the will of God
the father looks them cold in the eye, says
‘Tell that to my child.’

if there is a higher will, is it
a sugar-coated bitter pill, is it
worth the suffering
of a little flower to wilt in its spring
dare we see our misery as a test of a god
if that is true I will never write the test
teacher, you can give me naught.

Somethings just happen good and bad alike
we blame it all on religion
and make God a cruel scientist
testing us when we lie bleeding
I just can’t see my God as one
who will let a girl die so young
wrecked with pain from soul to lung

Call me a heretic, judge me then a sinner
the suffering of a child is just not my way
to a twisted promise land
I believe that things are random
things we don’t understand
and I love my God too much
to judge him as a cruel ‘tester’ with pestilence in his hand

(c) 2016 Allen Simpson
inspired by ‘Book of Stars’

I intend in no way to judge or insult anyone’s beliefs with this poem. I am just inspired by true happenings and in poetry try new angles to understand how people think. There is just something in me that thinks telling a dying child that God is testing her, and that is why she is suffering, is wrong.

Photo taken at Pelgrim’s Rus Cemetary

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