the sound of Job’s primal scream
still tearing through the air.
A sound older than scripture.
Older than mercy.
It travels.
Across deserts.
Across centuries.
Stone temples crumble.
Columns fall like broken teeth.
Altars sink back into dust.
But somewhere
inside the temple
a heartbeat.
Inside the temple
a heartbeat.
Inside the temple
a heartbeat.
Not stone.
Not marble.
God himself.
A ribcage of thunder
holding the noise of human pain.
Job screaming
into the lungs of heaven.
And heaven breathing it in.
Pain lives there.
A small animal scratching
inside the chest of God.
A wound
that refuses to close.
Inside the temple
a heartbeat.
Inside the temple
a heartbeat.
Inside the temple
a heartbeat.
Not silence.
Not peace.
Just the stubborn drum
of suffering
beating
inside the body of God.
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