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Prayer of desperation
Your child was weeping, father, lamenting about her life, about what she had and what she did not. She wanted you to come into her life, to erase her shame, and allow her a little glory. To wipe the tears off her face, and give her a little cheer. Oh father, she craved a child, but when you gave her a womb, you took away her life. When you gave her the farm to cultivate, you took away the rain. Oh thy hand has been too strong, and your blow too tough. You have attacked us, with hands of stone, and thy rod and staff has long ceased to comfort us. Oh why have we wept for bread, only to be handed scorpions? Why have we prayed for fish and you give us snakes?
We shall sing a song for you father, not one of praise but one soaked with lamentations. We shall sing a song, a loud and lewd song, full of provocation, a song of anger, and ire. Oh we shall sing. We shall sing a song, but shall we sing for the child unborn of the woman dead? Father, we are at crossroads, and we can only walk this road but once. Thine is a heavy hand, and ours is a soft will. We bend with the wind, and when it is too strong, we break. We are carried by the currents, and when the flood gets high, we drown inside. Let thy hand be slight, even as you deal us a blow. Let your knife be blunt and your club soft. But still we shall weep, when times get hard. Do not take that away from us, our tears, for they are a warm comfort at times. They are all we have when the path is dark and dreary. Do not take it away from us when times get tough, for when we cannot have hope, we would be happy with sorrow. Do not take this bitterness from us, for when we do not have justice, we shall be grateful to get revenge instead. So father, have mercy on us, even when thy cup of wrath overflows. Hit us when you must, and if we should die, then let it be soft and slow.

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