The guiding hand, clenched in its fist,
Cares not for the chances we’ve missed.
Bony fingers tighten ‘round us,
Of Devil or God confounds us.
Fate’s hand places us where it will,
Objections met with an eerie still.
The Devil’s hand or of the Lord,
Punishments can look like reward.
The benevolent hand at play,
Requests for which we blindly pray,
Indifferent which powerful font,
God or Devil gives what we want.
A hand from beyond has control
In return it asks for our soul.
What if ere we die we live good?
Is the Devil misunderstood?
What if our deepest wants are just to do good? What if the Devil offered our soul for the good we do while we’re alive? If we asked for the power to do good, would we care where it came from? Rich explorations of this topic in literature. For now, a short poem.
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