The Written Art...
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Another Storm
When I was young I believed that God was crying when it rained.
I was too little to understand the science of atmospheric conditions involved.
But, I remember thinking God was sad. Because I knew what sadness felt like.
Tears
…Rain
That I saw his pain and wondered if he felt mine,
and how my little heart ached.
That God was crying for me.
Years later I wrote a poem about
my lifeless body lying on the ground
as the rain it did pound
battered and bruised
waiting for love
eternally waiting
…for love.
I stand here now in another storm
where it's easy to hide the pain.
Your tears just blend in
wondering if God remembers me, that little girl that felt the sadness of the tears he poured down on the earth;
praying he can wash away this new layer of ache from my soul;
as the rain washes away dirt from a road.
My thoughts return to that innocent time that,
that little girl had hope that God could see her pain;
…my pain
As I stand here in the rain.
I was too little to understand the science of atmospheric conditions involved.
But, I remember thinking God was sad. Because I knew what sadness felt like.
Tears
…Rain
That I saw his pain and wondered if he felt mine,
and how my little heart ached.
That God was crying for me.
Years later I wrote a poem about
my lifeless body lying on the ground
as the rain it did pound
battered and bruised
waiting for love
eternally waiting
…for love.
I stand here now in another storm
where it's easy to hide the pain.
Your tears just blend in
wondering if God remembers me, that little girl that felt the sadness of the tears he poured down on the earth;
praying he can wash away this new layer of ache from my soul;
as the rain washes away dirt from a road.
My thoughts return to that innocent time that,
that little girl had hope that God could see her pain;
…my pain
As I stand here in the rain.