Healing Rain

Alone, upon a world a strewn in acrid ash and sin,
A world unfixed of any powers that held them once within
There stood an empty city that had understood its flaws,
Mended all its laws,
Muzzled every cause,
Until, beloved by gods who held that right and wrong were kin,
They raised their mighty jaws,
To fill with noise the pause,
And smiling, fell into oblivion.

And deep within this city once there was a house that stood,
A building, like the others, caked in filth and rotting wood.
Yet something different lay within the rust that held this place,
Its fires had been chaste,
And tender was its face,
An unseen glows proved house from home – a glow of something good,
A fire in darkest space,
Respect in worlds disgrace,
When all else failed, a place that understood.

Then came to pass, a dreary hour, like previous hours the same,
And darker clouds passed overhead, to prophesy a rain.
Soon fell the oily water down upon the stock and swine,
Which, hitting homes design, took on a different shine.
The grit became a wine, and flowed through roof and board and drain –
A liquid all-divine,
A crystal-clearing shrine –
To settle in a metal tin, there lain.

The storm soon knew its end, and still became the waters eye,
Which, by some power unknown, reflected quite a different sky.
Another world took form to speak and spread its urgent theme,
A type of leafy dream,
With laughter all agleam,
Reflections of what should have always been, a joyful cry
A message all-supreme,
A life-bestowing stream,
Which echoed up in watery voice to sigh,

“We seek the one who called us forth in heartfelt prayer and rhyme
For it is said of us, need you but seek and you will find,
And there is one upon this earth who begged our watery ear,
Whose motives are but mere,
Yet hold the truth as dear,
Who cried to us out of despair to save him from his time,
We waters who are clear,
Will bid his heart make cheer,
Oh son of man, come forth, for we are kind!”

There was a pause and from the shadows crept a tiny frame
Who thought he heard the voice of one a-calling out his name.
He tiptoed to the water, searching, trying to understand,
He saw no other land,
Just water, tin, and sand,
Still something drew him closer, ‘till he, leaning, lost his aim,
The waters took his hand
And seemed like to expand.
An upset tin, and nothing more, remained.

Though you may think it strange, a tale of nonsense, or disgrace,
That anyone could find new life beneath a waters face,
I would invite all men once more to ponder in degree
Of all the things that be
That vision fails to see.
Why might not he who forged the waters use them to efface?
It is a guarantee,
A sound and true decree,
Prompted by nothing more than simple grace.