You are the brat of hell, a deranged spawn of evil.
Every good gift, every revelation,
every liberty, every healing, every love -
you have destroyed with such malice
that it doesn't exist anymore even in your memory.
You have soaked your soul in lies.

You have done what you set out to do
and never ceased to crave . . . .

You have murdered

. . . not God as you wished. . .
but your own lovely destiny.
Now you are left in the claws of His enemy
to carry out "its" vulgar wishes.

The tormentors your unforgiveness called for
have descended on your dreams.
Your blasphemy of Abba has its harvest.
I cannot stop that for you.

You did it to yourself. Not to me. Not to God.
Your worst horror is true: you can hurt neither of us.

Should you murder me, I am a martyr.
When you slander me, I am rewarded.
This God All-Mighty, you can neither move . . .
nor stop . . . nor kill.

I am His . . . and He is God of the last word.
My Defender and my Wall.

My God reigns in glory, in joy, in victory!
Hallelujah!
He is God!

I am shocked at the gluttony of your banquet of evil and
equally amazed that - even that rank hatred
cannot destroy my love for you . . .
a love from Him whose Love is never diminished
even when His anger is on fire.

And I am ever more in love with Him
from your campaign of rage.

By my helpless need of His dominion,
I am drenched in the hidden springs of His promises. 

    I see His face. Not yours.

Copyright 2001 © Martha Kilpatrick