Why does God look like he is angry?: A poem 

I never had the dumbness of wood 

It doesn’t even cry when it is lumbered 

But I don’t display my tears and my face 

You may think it is obscured in existential lace 

But I am thorough with my easel and pen 

especially when I have to do it every now and then 

This magnum opus of stupidity was never disgrace 

You can call it what you may, it is no maddening craze 

We could be mavericks with more than intended grace 

The one who finishes last could have won the race 

And I don’t feel last or lost in my sorrow 

I wake up feeling a relief of hope tomorrow 

Stoicism is a very large disposition; its humility is not small 

Its acceptance should not be presumed as resignation 

Because its stature does not embrace condoning evil 

There is a loud thunder in suffering out of sheer will 

And the dormant mountain may suddenly wake up as a volcano 

God is the shrewdest driver, in the overwhelming rapids, with his canoe 

The earth may rarely quake, but its motion is never still 

God may be a mere flake of your preoccupations, but he foots every bill 

He can even kill, but that doesn’t make his magnanimity run of the mill 

I am not pretentious to pronounce humbly that I am nobody 

My intrepidity is never impaled by intimidation; God takes on diminutive material body 

And there may be validation for his apparent show of rage and enmity 

It is you he wants to save from the stain of universal evil and treachery 

Because you have no astuteness to discern between the evil provider and righteous divider