It's rained for two days in this desert.
And while it slides down windows and runs through streets,
I wonder,
Is it enough?
Enough to wash our sins away,
To cleanse this beat up town of heartbroken children
Of all the hate and ignorance that fills the air like poison?
Do the misguided judgments ride with current to some unknown place,
Or are they swallowed whole again by the ground,
aching for the tainted moisture?
Is it grown again in the cotton and crops?
Can we ever be rid of the self-righteous opinions that have been bred into most of us?
I wonder these things as I watch the rain run.
Two whole days of clouds and angels crying.
And in the hush, through their tears, I hear them whisper,
"We had such high hopes for you."
And so maybe, I think.
Maybe the rain isn't a gift, like they say,
But a broken lament for what we have become.
for how far we have strayed.
We ran away, hard and fast, eager for freedom.
And now we have the audacity to scream the accusation of abandonment.
We were not left, we did the leaving.
Right has been twisted into wrong and in the confusion, we chose badly.
And so the angels cry.
While we ignore them and preach hate.
While we ruin everything that was once good.
While I long to watch this town burn.
And still.
The rain falls.