Light Rain, like Weeping
Short Sunday Reflection
The lightest of raining can be heard from where I sit near the window, right now.
My small world and my tiny neighborhood doesn’t involve too much consternation. But, how close it is. How close is the danger and the pain. Death in many forms.
My heart is torn apart.
The rain feels like a tremendous weeping. The air is heavy with sorrow and the earth is soaked with tears.
The trees have the sky’s tears streaming down their trunks and into the soil.
The songs of the birds seem to cry out in hope and warning.
The voice of innocent blood cries out from the ground.
It cries out.
It cries out.
The venom and spite crouched at the door of tyrants has sprung and caught hold by the neck the conscience of our representatives and leaders who’ve succumbed to the choke hold.
Maybe they are not merely unawake but paralyzed in the grip.
And the people’s cries come from the streets.
They are unprotected populace with voices of protest. Attacked in the manner of war.
Up against the mobilized forces and those fueled on blind obedience.
Shielded, bulletproof vested, and armed soldiers aiding the abductors who hunt and take the people who scatter like sheep. The masked stealers of men and women who’ve bowed the knee to despots. They must feed on the suffering of others to be able to continue.
The rain is like weeping.
It is like weeping. As if the clouds have opened with a wound—a crushed heart. Their blood comes down like water and washes over.
In a chorus of sorrow the mist rises and the air hangs with grief.
Woe to you killers. You takers of lives in all the forms.
You will be undone and overcome. The torment of your crimes will drive you mad as love finds a way.