In Time and Silence

Mangled pieces of paper
fly through this brain tissue,
swirling in a dirt devil.
They fall into place and
then picked up again
to fly inside this dome.
Who is there to collect these
pieces, but the hands
on the outside?
Oneself can only see indoors
but not reach the outside
once trapped in.
These pieces quarrel
to be put together
and to not be burned
in the fire.
Where is the water to douse
these flames
but on the outside?
No flesh
can properly reach in
and douse the flames
and still the storm.
Only the door on the inside
can let Him in.
On both sides He is
seen
and the heart invites
Him in.

There is a Rock to Build on

Tears dance down
the facade and
flood waters swell up
these wooden beams.
They are heavy
and they bow.
The house tilts and
all the water
rushes
to one side.
No tree can
lift
nor bush nor bird
can put this house
upright.
All that is inside is
twisted
and mangled.
No fish can amend
this entangled reef
nor deer live
in this watery thicket.
Tears tear down this
house to dying pieces, though
no storm shall uproot
this foundation, if
it is built on rock.