Paging God, Paging Dr. Jesus



Bills as tall as Mount Everest,
Money as low as the Dead Sea.
[Scratch that because the money is not following so there is no point juxtaposing it with a sea].

Bills as tall as Mount Everest,
Money as low as Death Valley.
Life is begging for a change from that decay,
A feeling of sinking rust, Titanic.
Thirsty to drink from that Living Fountain but he beckons me no more.
I am knocking on the door, fist clench, knuckle sore with pleading.
I thought you told me “…knock and it shall be opened to you.”
Then why a

 sign every time I seek you.
If it is the begging that you want, why did you never respond to my sessions of beseeching.
Remember the times I cried you a river, flooding your sanctuary with my grief, staining your precious altar with my sinned lips.
Do you enjoy watching me through your 4G gates, perch on your throne, content to view the struggle and pain who are now my constant companions?

Job, my inner saint offered, “take courage my child.”
“You are a sinner, quit already with all that sanctified Job nonsense,” my inner demon countered.
Dr. Jesus write me a prescription.
Do an Ezekiel, make my aching bones come alive again.
My productive character is at stake.
You offered a degree and you left, the wolves have attacked.
I am a Stark girl so I like wolves but it is no fun when they suck like leeches on my ability to earn a bread.
What do I do about the white elephant of debt?
I cannot just ignore my duty to repay.
Any suggestions?
I guess you would say nada, just watch after each employer shatter a nerve of my already jilted brain.
What should I do, Lord?
You really are remaining tight-lipped, are you that nonchalant about my plight in my nutty world?
Or am I so tainted with sin, I cannot hear you communicating through the royal telephone.
Well, I guess central is to busy for me.


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