This is a poem I wrote many years after the fact but while trying to work through a lot of the stuff I never let myself admit when I was trying to heal.

An Angry Lament

O Great God,
You claim to lead us by still waters and green pastures,
but you LIED.
My waters are not still.
My fields are not green.
My waters are 
bubbling
boiling
raging
screaming by, red with emotion.
My fields are
jagged
sharp
tearing
shredded by your cold regard.

O God of Power,
words of love fall from your lips,
but they have no meaning
when the works of your hand
tear my heart from my chest.
Thoughts of asking "why" flow quickly through my mind - 
but do not stay for long.
What answer could have any meaning now?

O God of love,
my anger knows no bounds -
seething
writhing
churning
swirling through my being.
Take your love for it does no good.
I am overwhelmed and cannot bear it.
So be it.