Who are you to decide what you deserve?
Without His will,
a leaf won’t fall.
Your lungs won’t move.
You don’t choose—
you’re allowed.

He raises the guilty,
strikes down the proud,
plucks kings like petals,
tears down empires like paper.
He forgives monsters,
forgets saints.
He decides. Not you.

You cry justice—
but what do you know of mercy?
You say you’re too far gone—
but what do you know of distance?

He speaks, and oceans part.
You breathe because He allows it.
You think you know justice,
but you don’t even understand grace.

So plead.
Repent.
Curse yourself, if you must.
Scream your truths into silence.

But don’t pretend you’re the judge.