Unending thoughts 5/5

Oh lonely night,
What icon can hold off this now?
What belief, if there is such a thing,
Can comfort me in my misery?
I believe
I believe
I breathe and breathe and breathe...
And softly sing, to comfort a World gone wrong.
As I lay here on a soft mattress, In a warm room,
Surrounded by the love of children.
There are children out there,
Starving, Freezing, UNLOVED
I believe for them.
God, please, You have taken a little mercy from me
Have you withdrawn it from them?
Are we but gentiles and heathens?
That even children are garbage,
And the depression of the tragedy of life
Kills us?
Was creation a canvas never finished?
Singed in a fire? So that it's vibrancy is cracked, blistered, and distorted?
Where is our God,
Who said, "I require mercy, and not sacrifice."?
Where is that mercy? Does it only flow from my heart?
If from there at all?
And yet, where does that flow originate? That fountain; that well?
Are not you the originator?
Push me.
Break me.
I have prayed this before.
Send your Holy Spirit to me.
Take the scale from my eyes, let me see.
Let me see where I walk in darkness.
Make me strong, and, Holy.
Burn me with your fire, and blister me.
Let me know what it is to LIVE, instead of this waking death.
This fun, and entertainment. Like a sad player piano, hammering out some forgotten scroll;
A good time rag, the drunken used to fall about to. Now they are all dead.
And the revelry is silent and hangs,
A rotted tapestry of a forgotten  era. Easily lost to it's own decadence.
Let me be mad. In the stillness of the night, let me stand.
Let me see what walks in the glades, without footsteps.
Let me hear the mournful cry of the godless.
Let my heart glow with spirit and not falter.
Let me be forever veiled, guarded, and not abandoned to my selfishness.
Clothe me in hard love, and set for me a standard I cannot reach.
Deal with me harshly, that I may have mercy, mercy, mercy.
Who can hate the sinner? Who can recoil from the deformed and sick?
Who is clean, now. Are we not all monsters?
Who are these precious children that you let them be born into suffering?
Will they not be your saints?
In the womb, was I not strong enough, not worthy enough to be there?
No;
You give a small suffering; The death of a good Christian woman, full of love,
And I fall into abandon. I am not strong. I do not know it.
Your spirit takes my communion from my lips, and gives it to another, worthy, faithful.
All I can do is throw myself at the foot of the cross, and cling.
Will you look down in your suffering, and turn your head?
I will not meet your eyes. And the cold of your sweat and blood falling on me will be my only warmth.
As the unworthy comes forth to commune...
Shit on the table of a feast; my presence is an abomination.
But where else can I go?
Cleanse or kill, you are a just God.
Do with me what you will.