Ha-ha-ha! God will not let you

Ha-ha-ha! God will not let you
go out from my shutters!
He is not threatening or cruel,
As for thieves - no, he doesn't cover.

To the righteous He may show
in His Bethlehem - a Star.
And pouring His Grace, and pouring
Until the full body buzz.

He has chosen you to serve
For the righteous ecstasy.
Keep spinning the thread of gold,
Without sobs, strait give in.

And at the highest of speeds
To our full collision -
He wispers them verse in ears -
That is how God loves people,

That's Fate for me and you!
And outline is closed.
She was bright, light and good!
As a statue - eternal.

Pattern that you may see -
It was woven in Heaven.
Paradise - approached me
Close, filled with contentment.


****
This poem begins with a peal of laughter, and the whole poem echoes that
joy. The subject is one of the highest gravitas - F-A-T-E, but you treat it lightly, almost humorously because you know that our fate in the Christian pattern is life in Paradise with God. Seen from that angle, there is only joy
in our future. The conventional sorrows of life break down and no longer hold us hostage to an uncertain life after death. Instead of worry I hear an echo of that laughter at the beginning. I wish my grandmother had known this poem in her last sickness because she was frightened of death. She was a blessed woman but still she feared judgment.. She held my hand tighter each time I saw her in those last weeks.

This poem begins with a peal of laughter, and that joy and relief it expresses is heard throughout.
The subject is actually very serious, but your point of view is imbued with Christian optimism.
The subject is F-A-T-E, that impersonal symbol of things that are fixed, monumental, unbending.
But you see Fate in the much softer image of a PATTERN WOVEN IN HEAVEN: instead of some
immense stone, towering over us, you see a carpet welcoming our arrival. Of course, this joy comes from knowing the truth and living by it, as you have said in other poems of faith. // I wish my beloved grandmother had known your poem in her last illness, because she feared judgment.
She held my hand tighter with each of my visits in those last weeks. I could not ease her panic, but perhaps your poem and its sentiment of joy and laughter might have have done so. I am certain she lives in heavenly bliss. I am the one who needs  the assurance her suffering was obliterated by joy and relief.