Sunday Morning

This morning I watch as

gray clouds scud across the sky

patches of blue quickly covered.

The scent of late summer rain

the air thick and heavy

with the memory of it all

piercing sirens, screams at night.

Sitting alone with my thoughts

trying to write, to understand

a world of deep despair.

A lone flower raises itself up

defiantly, as the wind tears along

standing firm, colors bright

even as we mourn

life refuses to give up

the roots of hope lie deep

within this hallowed ground.

So, I take off my shoes

I stare at the burning bush

kneeling before the One

who sends me out, 

speaking peace

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