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Holy Rain
by
theresa whitworth
 
Bare, since winds of mortal change,
Carried feathered follies far.
Fossil hearts, would fear derange
Still ego clings to flesh like tar.

And infants weep in shifting sands,
Ancient souls sing silent songs.
This precipice, the promised land
Shrinks, neath feet of naked wrongs.

Fallen angels search for grace.
Grasp at shreds, to hide the shame
Divine the tears on tarnished face,
As Ruddy skies spew holy rain.
--Submitted by naked angel on 2011-12-09.
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