Old and hairy, but it has a point.

God Pours and pours
his dousing rain upon the
somewhat open earth.
See, I’m a drop that gets caught
in the leaves of a mighty tree;
Sent from father, kept from mother;
like an infant weened.
Suspended between my maker and my mission,
I beg for a strong wind to shake me from my hell.

But what if I then end up in the gutter,
watering dismembered vegetated limbs?
if the sun calls me back into the clouds?
Collect into a puddle?

What if I make mud?

God pours and pours and I am left undrank.

My thoughts evaporate as it thunders-

I am no drop. I am no

I am a tree, confusing myself with
what collects above my thirsty roots.


I Dream of Scotland said...

I apologize if my blog offended. I have edited it slightly at the end, if you wish to check it out.

adam paul said...

i think the "bad word" in that sentence is "ourselves".

it should probably be omitted. i feel like that would address most of the issue with it. maybe?