John 11:35

You call me Your son and I call
You Father, ignorant
in my childhood
what it meant

as my mother folded over hands
over heart, crying out
that she didn't even know
Your touch. She, who was so close
to You, that You left her
just me.

I want to make You proud
for I am Yours in the trinity
of blood, flesh, and hope
that I am truly Your son.
So let me work in Your name

I'll shout at waves and wind,
touch disease and demons
that will always haunt my own
what-ifs until I crack
that stone temple, and breathe
Your words into the crowd who hates
me, who loves me
enough to kill me on that cross
road, that tree for You
so I can cry of heartbreak
and euphoria, shouting
My God, my
God
why can't I forsake You?