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!
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