Poetry

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Pewter sky with no promise of a rainbow
pelts painfully the sidewalks cars and flesh below it
the grass is made of tougher stuff
drinks deeply uncomplaining
coconuts swell too
while leaves exhale the sweet breath that keeps my lungs pumping

gun metal gray clouds disgorge blinding static shock explosions
sending PTSD warriors under their beds
but the fish are breathing easy in their gills

the earth embraces conflict that's productive
the earth craves this cycle of disruption
sabbath of precipitation
liberating ozone for the parched prairie to gulp

can anything good come out of human chaos, clouding our mortal skies?
is there any point in hoping
love your enemies
bless those who curse you
overcome evil with good
are words that pierce the starless night and crown the morning star?
are these the syllables that set the sun of anger to cool in the dawning dew?

I have to believe that living water is more potent than the rain

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