Bed of Nails

Hauled before my maker
On a sled of steel wool,
i cry for mercy.

Were it not for
The real suffering
In the world,
Mine would snatch
Greatness from the heavens.

i reflect:
As we crawled from dank pools,
Flapped toward Eden with our fins,
Were we not constantly
In mortal agony?

Was our pain
Not simply
A fact,
A given?

As we rise
Rung by rung
On Jacob's ladder
We begin to forget
The primordial bog
In which its legs
Are sunk.

i will not rest tonight.
i will be aflame with fever, but
i will pray for peace,
And will gladly suffer
In my small, comfortable way,

So that, in time,
i may again rejoice
With all
Your children.

--Mr. Gobley