blood

happiness is blood
coursing
splitting off into
every artery
and
every vein.

Infiltrating the body
seeping
from any source
my wistful mind
and scanning eyes
can cipher.

And what I find
this, my happiness
my body
always full
compounding emotion
over-fills
happiness turned physical,
rippling.

It throbs
lungs, temporarily frozen
the throat
seeming to close
as
ideas thickly come.

Fullness of joy
remembers
parts of the mind
not used
perform death duty
to suffocate elation
in
realisation of intolerable truth.

And the mind reels
happiness ebbing
faster than it came
overtaking shadows
of
the reality of life
reminder
that life is not ideal.

Strange
the mind still
disobedient to what is real
desiring, never satisfied
incapable of
being satiated
with
'life is not ideal'
loving
what brings
most stinging pain.

- Lydie

suffer the little children

she could see the machine. Its face was blurry, its body white-coated, moving slowly and methodically among gleaming silver instruments. Gloved fingers reached for an item from the tray by the bed, carefully picking from the metal shapes and pulling out curved scissors.

the woman's body was half-covered with the white sheet, the lower half exposed, legs pushed apart. Her fingers closed over the loose ends of the sheets, unwittingly gripping them, knuckles straining taut. Her whole body knew what had to come from what her mind had done, but the mind itself was suspended in the surreality of the situation. It was impossible that she was chained to her body, when she could feel no connection with it now. The only tie between spirit and flesh was the mind controlling the body's actions - but now, she could no longer sense her body responding.

and, that part of her mind which forced her body to remain tied to the bed, waiting for sharp metal to pierce the child inside her - it had nothing to do with the rest of her mind that was now so distanced from that other, mechanicalised part, that it seemed a separate entity. It was paralysed, she wasn't even trying to sense what she was feeling. But beyond the paralysis was agony, sharp and bitter, that ripped her mind to pieces and had no pity.

There were three people in the room. Only three, because the nurse had chickened out, mentally unfit for the procedure. The woman lay on the bed, and the white machine-surgeon, his mind alive but his morality de-sensitized, was preparing to kill.
And God was there, watching. He was All-powerful, and He felt the woman's numb agony more bitterly than the woman could, as he saw the surgeon carry out the procedure.

...

What do you think? Why do you think God allows suffering?