Lake Erie after the storm
I sit, suspended--
held above the sand
by canvas and wood.
I am a spectator to a war.
I am an impartial observer on this shore.
Froth crested mountains surge forward,
writhing and enraged.
Each pressing wave devour each other with frenzy
like wild berserkers
assaulting the limits of reason.
Watching with wonder
wave upon wave upon wave--
shouting tumult, ceaselessly roaring
march against the shore.
Silently drinking up every
battalion to the last man
immovable as God himself.
Why do the nations rage?
Why does my heart rage?
The earth and sand and rock remain
despite the bluster, the pounding,
The shore remains.
© 2021 Jeremy W. Johnston
Jeremy W. Johnston
Christian, husband, father, teacher, writer.
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