Eye Of the Storm

You’d think that the rain would wash away our sins,
And provide us with the benefit of forgetting.
But it just ends up converting our world to mud.
We’re slipping,
Tripping,
Falling,
And hiding our tears amidst the chaos.
We shield our eyes against the lighting we know is there,
Cover our ears from the piercing reminder of a split.
Fracture of our expectations.
The aftermath is frustration.
Can’t get a hold of the ground,
Mud keeps falling through our fingers.
And we keep sinking down,
Down.
The tree branches and blown over trash cans serve as monuments,
For non-momentous awareness of powerlessness.
So all we can do is wait.
Wait.
For our Son to come and redeem us.
Or replace our grass with concrete,
For the sake of solidarity.
Powerlessness or fragmentation.
A rock and a hard place.

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