This Pain... This Test.! ! ! Poem by Milova Matthias

Why? Hast thou stricken me where it hurts?
Why? Hast thou deserted me when its hot?
Re-opening a wound, making my contuse,
Like the skin of a kettle drum.
This pain, will in me a thousand years live!
Before it ended, healed or be sealed.
This wound, will give no life to me
Except strength to hope as long lives it.
I hate my life, I loathe the lout
And until I can the kindness repay,
This wound I pray, shall not suffice
Shall not cease!
I hope should not heal,
Until I can beat the reach.
I am the cause, I know, so you need not tell
It is my fault, I can see, you need not point
I wish to ask in humility, that He cancels this test,
Yet what happens, to the golden chest in the end?
So I wait in alacrity, awaiting His promise, my rest.
When this pain will end and I'll have my best.