Rage
The seething waters took them.
I rage,
rage against the deluge,
an unmoored,
unrestrained rage.
I rage for the innocents,
a rage that drowns all else
except more broiling,
more roiling waves of rage,
an anger that unstrings
the harps of angels.
Rage I now, at the blind horror
of godforsaken moments
that snatch all away
as suddenly as a surging,
untethered,
Texas tsunami.
I rage against
the ever-deceitful aspirations
of peace and calm,
rage utterly
against all heaven-sent calamities,
rage most,
upon
this violent earthbound dream
we have plunged into,
it is a raging river
that will sweep us all away,
even little girls,
all those struggling to still swim
above such raging torrents
only to slip through flailing hands
as hope sinks below
yet more tumultuous waters,
waters which
it has been written,
that Jesus himself
once walked upon.
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