Zero

Once on way to the hospital, one minus one was zero. God was fighting with the Devil, and God was my hero. My dad had also been my hero and when he died I cried. A part of me died and went into deep depression, the lie Of how he had died. The dream of the autopsy lingered long. He did not suffer, but I did for twelve years. Now I'm strong. Strong was his faith and so is mine. Love is great, divine. For the years I was sick as my mother, I looked for a sign To deliver me from the Hell I was feeling, dealing without hero. My mother died when God and the Devil became a big fat zero. God won and I dreamed she went to Heaven in a white Dress as angel, like her sweet voice, her beauty a sight To see. As I've gotten older, I see her in me, looks. She read the bible, as did I and many other books. For her soul, her death, no longer need to cry. No longer do I need to ponder and wonder why. She quoted to me in the Devil's voice, then apologized in her voice Her mother had God and the Devil in her and died at 35, no choice. My mother was seven when her mother went to Heaven. Popi and Aunt Mae, her mother's sister, raised her then. I pray for all of them each and every night. I know that they are all in God's own sight.