I heard once—
that faith is a river,
endless and hungry,
smoothing stone into whispers.
But I have seen drought.
I have seen it—
cracked earth, tongues of dust,
where the river should have been.
They say God walks on water,
but what of when it dries?
Do His feet scrape the bone of the earth,
blister and bleed like ours?
Tell me,
does He flinch?
I have whispered prayers
into the hollow of my hands,
watched them echo back,
unanswered, unanswered.
Perhaps faith is a canyon instead,
formed by the absence of water,
shaped by what is not there.
If He listens,
He must be deaf to desperation.
If He sees,
He must be blind to begging hands.
Or maybe He just—
turns His head,
lets the river run dry,
watches us scratch at dust
like it’s salvation.
I don’t know how to pray anymore.
I only know how to shout.
Maybe He hears me now.
Maybe He’s just waiting
for the river to fill again,
waiting for me to drown
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Author:
seori (
Offline) - Published: May 13th, 2025 05:51
- Comment from author about the poem: The things that the God of Man can do. Things that only women can dream of.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett
Offline)
Comments4
A wonderous poem of reflection filled with great metaphor and images that open the mind to words of the past that blow in the winds of hope and die in the summer of heat of a breathless sky. The worship of the sun now covered with the smog of our pollution has left us without faith in a world without hope. A most lovely write and a fave
Love the questioning in this...
Beautifully written poem, wonderful imagery, leaving behind a line of question's to be thought about, enjoyed the read
Excellent write
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