Poetry

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He stumbles through darkness.
Rain beats down on his back.
The pride which he has built battles the faith which he lacks.
He shields the storm with his hand,
exposes himself to pain.
Will not seek God's guidance,
or let him tide the rains.
He is now alone, sinking, going under.
He can no longer see or feel, but can hear the crack of thunder.
To his waist, to his neck, the liquid begins to rise.
He opens his hand, but closes his eyes.
He reaches upward, releases the earth he grips tight.
A hand reaches back, pierces through the night.
The water is dried from his body, dried from his eyes.
When all was let go, a light cracked the skies.
He was never forsaken, nor cast away.
For when he surrendered, it became a new day.

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