Five hundred and fifty tons of grief
The weight of a single cumulus cloud
No longer floating
One hundred gray circus elephants
Raining down
Your tears
Bursting in torrents
A sudden midnight shower
The floodgates of your inner deep
All the secrets that you keep
Pouring through the speaker of my phone
Flashes of blue in the black of night
The only light
In room number three
Of Brown’s Motel
“Rooms of the World”
My own private hell
Because faith no longer applies to me
There’s a gun on my shelf
Waiting in a basket of plastic daisies
Your favorite flower
There’s nothing I can say
To make your pain go away
Unless I were God
Who already knows
He catches your falling tears
He collects them in His bottle
Your every sorrow is recorded in a book
You have not gone unnoticed
You are not alone
Please remind yourself of this:
God is near to the brokenhearted
To all who are crushed in spirit
Lift your hands to Him
Blue eyed child
Lift your hands to Him
This Holy One who can create something–anything–from nothing
By an act of divine fiat
A simple declarative sentence
Let there be peace
He says
His gentle heavenly breath
Sweet as manna
Will hush your raging sea
(This is what I see)
A smooth green mirror
Your smiling face
Grace upon grace
Andrew Dabar