If i’m the bucket and You’re the rain
i can barely contain
In this frail tin pale of mine.
Where Your words leak like wine
From torn skins to pour over and out
Onto undeserving hands clenched in fists.
How can just my little brain
Contain all the world’s rain
And claim to understand the nature of clouds and solstices?
Where there’s doubt and there’s fear;
Mystery and pain,
Where could i ask the unquestionable
For an answer i, as a vessel, could bear?
If she’s the chalice and You’re the wine,
How does sustenance overcome thirst
In a town where the well is a broken cistern?
we’ll pray for rain.
Pray for the downpour to sweep us away.
But what we really want is You, God of Hope.
Oh, for a chance to dance with mercy;
To embrace compassion in this dystopia
Would be to let this cup overflow.
i can’t contain all that You are
Or all i can become.
But pour on.
Please, God of Peace, pour on.
