Pour out the passion on the page.
Release the pent up sorrow, rage.
It ends, and all the noise transforms
Like calms that come at the end of storms.
When conflict comes, then in between
Fall drops of peace to form a stream.
Come to the waters, let them heal,
And see how mercy still is real.
The storms may overwhelm the fields
And flood the land and will not yield
Until what's good is ravaged, gone,
And it seems like grace cannot go on.
But in the midst of what may seem
A terror, comes a swollen stream.
It washes gently, takes away
The dark of night to bring the day.
And stark contrast brings sweet release;
The soul is overwhelmed with peace.
Perhaps that's what the storms are for:
We can't know peace until there's war.
postscript
Mercy reachin' to save me....