The Storm Has Come Again

The Storm Has Come Again

(Love Letters of Dust)

I could pen a letter to a friend far away.
Or I could sit awhile and just shelter,
Hide my silvered head from the rain falling sideways.

Perhaps I could just live like this under the brooding,
Wind-whipping, slashing, and splashing angrily skies—
Constantly attempting to find their way beneath my hood,
To sully the silver perfection of humidity meeting my hair.

Or maybe I’ll just stay here at my seat, coffee in hand,
Snuggled up, watching the rain, the flags flapping wildly.
I let a tear or two slip, in solidarity with the precipitation.

My heart ever a cathedral cracked open, its doors thrown wide.
The secret being a steady Rock to rest my wearied foundation upon.
So, Yeshua, the storm has come again to steal the thunder before lightning.

It whispers the lies that say my voice is unneeded,
That my own tears matter less than a snowflake in a blizzard.
That my form is destined for pain’s phylactery repeatedly.
That there is no rest for one such as I—
That I was made to suffer,
To be shown yet again that I am not seen.

Still I remain, a miracle that I live and draw breath,
Never allowing the enemy even an inch of beach—
For their ships filled with soldiers named Lies to land.

Always trusting what You say over my own internal voice,
Knowing that I am loved and called Beloved,
Not as a name or affectation,
But as a hug after a long, hard absence.
A Homecoming.

As always,
Dust