A poem written from a season of deep suffering and obscurity
High sky descends to low ground
Leafs frolic as rains pound
Lofty trees submerged in gray.
World bereft of rhythm
Reveals internal schism
My faith begins to sway.
Perfect plans of sunshine fail
Water floods this dismal vale
Not supposed to be this way.
I shake my fist and cry out “Why?”
Should dreary drown out clear blue sky?
Hope is a dwindling ray.
Living waters quench parched earth,
Prompting valley’s fruits to rebirth.
Rains are required, not sun today.
Baptize me, push me under,
Purify me with thunder.
Build Your kingdom here, Yahweh!
I am washed by the water,
For You are the potter,
And I have always been the clay.