Why do you hide from me, oh my God?
Why do you sink into the shadows?
Why do you run from me and ignore my prayers?
Are you a coward, oh my God?
Are you afraid to look upon the face of the monster you’ve created?
Why should I have to suffer this fate as you run from the thing you have created?
Am I not worthy of my own Creator?
How should anyone be unworthy of that from which they were created?
If such a thing were true, then the Creator himself would too be unworthy for he created only that which was inferior, which maketh him that which is inferior.*
In the hollow places I run to you, but you slink away like the darting doe
In the forlorn moments, I cast my net for you oh my God but you slip away
In my darkest moments I call for you, but you do not answer
Why is it that you run from me so?
Why can’t you face me? What is it that you fear? What judgement see thou in this visage?
I call to you, long for you, yarn for you, and you do not answer
Why, oh thundering storm, do you not come when I call?
Why have I been so abandoned?
What purpose does any of this serve?
Where are you, oh creator, why won’t you take your medicine?
Why won’t you answer for your crimes?
Are you a coward like the rest of us?
Are you a fool, like the worst of us?
Or are you simply dead?
*This truth is explained by the following line from Liber CCCXXXIII:
That which causes us to create is our true father and mother; we create in our own image, which is theirs.
Let us create therefore without fear; for we can create nothing that is not GOD.