Cosmotheological diddlings from Eratosphere; as Williamb

I'll be 50 in two months, and until Feb. 2011, when I was 46, I was an atheist the whole time, just like my pop, who as it happens, turned 70 back in January.

 Either I'm insane or I was touched by God. Or something extremely powerful, benevolent, and amazing. I have been an outspoken God-believer ever since, despite the fact that my life is falling apart around me and each day brings new difficulties. I go to bed every night and see images of the Holocaust, the Rape of Nanking, The Inquisition, the bombing of Hiroshima, Pompey, tsunamis, human suffering on a terribly grand scale. But it's the daily catastrophes, accidents, atrocities, the day-in day-out round of human suffering that I don't hear or know about, that troubles me even more.

 I say, Hey God, why the hell is all this happening? When am I or my loved ones gonna be tossed into the grinder? Why am I safe and sound? Why don't I have physical pain? Why are my loved ones not dying? Why am I not suffering? I conclude that my suffering is still to come. In a universe where balance is all, it seems only correct and proper that I should get my share of the pain, after 50 years of relative ease and comfort.

 I think this is how Christ works in me. I've had it too easy. I let the years go by. Now comes the rough stuff. Every day is harder and harder. No wife, see kids rarely, no friends, low-wage job, future looks dismal.

 And we haven't even started. I expect things to become worse. After a certain amount of time, I won't be able to handle the stress, that harsh gnawing in the belly, the fear. A time will come when I can't keep a job, or do a job properly. A lifelong Tull fan, that Aqualung character has always haunted me, since I was about 14. I saw myself in him.

 Back in Cowper's day (I think I'm a lot like he was) there were patrons who helped crazy poets along. Those days are long gone. Nobody gives a tinker's damn about poetry, because everyone's a poet. Mishmash splishsplash = word salad: poem.

 Listen to what Roger said. This needs to be tightened up, much of it deleted or re-written. The final couplet, I'd do without the summing up. There's good material here, and something fine can be made of it I'm sure. The F-bomb is too fucking much in the first bit.