tornado. a poem. a lament. a prayer.
angry, heavy, angled pain
turning, heaving, downward point
grabbing, tearing, searing shards
life ripped from life’s arms
why
stubbled fields and angled bodies
ever present help
in trouble
gone
cracks of sunlight
salvaged pain
sifted rubble, rain-soaked albums
take shelter
find hope
emerge
Maker of Heaven
rebuild the ruins
pour salves of hope upon the nation
return
“What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient?” ~Job 6:11
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Posted on March 4, 2012, in poetry, searching and tagged brokenness, faith, Indiana, Job, storm chasers, tornado. Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.
We were in the path of one of the super cells. The storm split and went around us. Such a devastating storm. Towns obliterated. Praying for all those who have lost everything. Yes, Lord, pour salves upon these people. Bless you, Amy!