Puny Existence

A puny existence: mere humans are helpless in the face of God’s roiling sky in John Martin’s 1851–53 The Great Day of His Wrath. © Christopher Wood Gallery, London.

When a storm appears, most of us will feel life becomes bleak,
And its winds blow and scream, our inner voice becomes so meek,
For it is so dark that it is hard to find rest or be grateful, much less.
For our hope’s last cry seems nothing more than a weary test.

Don’t lose heart when walking through the dark souls of the night,
For if we lay down our burdens and stop trying to survive the sight.
We must remember that there is always something that brings light.
For it is the ray of hope that rains down to bring such delight.
A moment of peace and gratitude when all seems undone.

For in the gratitude of our past, we must honor what sad deems.
To see that things are not as they seem.
There is a truth that we are missing that was given so free,
The love of family, the wag of a tale, the arm of a friend, until the storm gives reprieve.

For it is in gratitude that can break the clouds and let the light pierce the sky,
And shine our hearts to bring us peace when life feels like a lie,
The ability to see the truth of what is worth caring for or matters.
And the path is near, pointing us to love and hope, to heal what is shattered.

So, remember, amid the storm, let us be clear,
Looking for a heart that can see the things that are so dear,
For the arms of love are present to surround us in our vulnerability,
And there is a reason we may not see that, which leads to hope for fertility.