Friday, January 18, 2013

Home.


Lord, through all generations, you have been our home.
Please teach us how to rest.

Our mothers and fathers have left us alone.
Everything is changing; no constants are left.

The waves are roaring, the wind moans;
They’re swirling like our hearts.

We thought we had solid cornerstones,
but our sandcastles crumble apart.

We pause in the moonlight on a barren beach
as we examine our wet piles of sand.

The distant laugh of a gull starts to preach
that if we are not solid, we will not stand.

We commence digging to find firm ground.
Our fingers blister and bleed.

For all our striving, nothing’s found.
We curse and cry and plead.

We kick the sand and drop our shovels.
The tide returns. There’s nowhere to be.

We wonder, after all of that trouble
why we even walked to the beach.

We stand together and solitary, still.
Hoping to hope again.

Lord, through all generations, You have been our home.

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