Moonlight sonata

In my moon-strewn room I pray.
Pleading with a father I love and who loves me,
For friends who are struggling to stay a family.
Struggling against a force that seems inexhorable.
Seeking blindly to wedge them apart.
I cry out to my Father against the injustice,
Against the pain, the fear.
Christmas should be joyful.
And in this moment,
When I feel others suffering,
I hear the words of Longfellow.
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail,
The right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”
And I know, because he has told me,
That all is well, all is well.
And in the snowy, sunlit morning, it is.