The Hand Trembler

Is the God that I worship like an eight ball that says yes maybe or no?

Or like a ouija board that points the direction to go?

A family looks on forlorn and sad - the outcome will determine faithful or mad

Temperature soars to 107 - passing hands not yet ready for heaven

He sees himself floating somewhere overhead

A haunting apparition high above his bed

It's me, I think, but I seem to resemble the soul of a ghoul

The Hand Trembler walks out not a word did he say

Is his power for real though he failed today?

The family has scorned him - Hand Trembler denied.

The life of their son snuffed out as they cried

You left us in agony - your power is fake

Though we trusted in you, this answer we'll not take

Do you have the faith to let God be God - that is the question

Not a question of outcome but a question of trust

For he is truly God and we are but dust

There are things in this life we can never explain

On the wicked and the righteous fall sunshine and rain

I am not God, though at times I have tried

"You don't need him" - the deceiver has lied