Black-Winged One

White, not the colour of purity and innocence,
but the colour of absence, nothingness,
the blank page of a book,;
not the colour of my God.

My God is dark,
the colour of morose night,
colour of the infinite unknown.
Known to me as the black-winged one…

He allows me to suffer
and to feel pain
since to feel pain, I believe
is to truly be alive, to be human.
For when your soul is finally presented to the Divine,
it will be shown exposed, naked,
ripped from the garments of original sin,
scarred yet spiritually veteran.

When I pray to my God,
I do not entreat during my lightest times,
but, silently, through my darkest times.

When I pray to my God,
I do not pray for Him to fix my problems,
But for Him to give me the strength,
to survive my own dark crisis.

And as I lick my tender wounds,
quietly waiting for them to heal,
I do not show anger at Him, and should never.
After all, we are the ones who inflict our own scars,
and inflict unto others…