Psalm 44 By Sister  AzanYah

For every Writer, the pen is the tool,
long hand the form and the written word…
the finality of Art.
No more would one expect a painter to first write the images in his head!
Or an Instrumentalist to paint sounds? 
As Bezalel, of the tribe of Judah was called forth and filled with the Spirit of YHWH, in Wisdom and Understanding and in all manner of workmanship 
to design artist works….
We are all gathered here for YOU: “it is for Your sake that we are slain,
all day long that we are regarded as sheep to slaughter,”  
Even as the cancer went from my right breast crossed over and down into my writing arm and there is swelling, pain continually the words do not lessen.
And in this I am not alone: for Your Glory we are all now diminished things 
trodding this languishing Earth,
the countless creatures that now make their homes in putrid oil-rotten seas;
whose huge carcasses like whales are suddenly spat out on shores, their dead wide eyes show they were more baffled than afraid. 
And the animals that once made their home in trees scurrying from the fires of Your Rage or maybe they’re more resolute of their fate than man and just sit and burn!
Nations rise in furious discord: afterward none can even articulate what they’re fighting for.
Surely this is the work of Your Hands.
And the pain and swelling that is now the arm with which I write, reminds me mostly how Grateful I am: for I expect fully for it go away; 
to Rise One Blessed Morning, as my ancestors once sang and feel no pain!
And this is how I know: by Your Word I see the times and reckon everything with breath is either looking at its own Annihilation or Redemption
and You are the whole of my help
even as I write, painfully on this dying Earth…
…there is Joy!