I Harbor No Anger For My Illness

Laying down in this comfortable hospital bed with blue and candid linen sheets that cover my strong legs, I harbor no anger for my illness; I can't blame God for my woe! Bitterly and deeply saddened by a slow clock, I'm looking with awe through a sun-kissed glass window from the tallest building on Lakeville Road with an awesome view of New Hyde Park; it's November and the birches turn bright gold... a joyful choir emerges from the small church below as the young tenor sings virtuous notes: everybody adores him and stands up from the pows! In there, parishioners are fervently praying for a divine miracle beyond human comprehension; is someone praying for me with folded hands? I'm confident that many have done that for my healing; it's so absurd that we only ask our Lord for compassion when a tragedy strikes...we are hypocritical humans! I harbor no anger for my illness; if most youth is so stubborn and rebellious, and doesn't consider sickness: here's the woeful proof of being reckless!