Savage beauty.  Deadly silence.  Heartbreaking elegance.
We raise our arms above our heads
And still upon the sands we dance.

We look up to the sky above and know this was not meant to be.
The baby bird that breaks her neck,
With mama’s goal to set her free.

Beauty holding hands with violence, married til the end of time.
This paradox brings on the tears;
Truth too big for my small mind.

Ferocity of storm and wave:  how much directed by his hand?
Which scenes are born from netherworld
And cause his tears to wash our land?

Which part comes from God above, and pleases him as he looks down?
We may not ever know the truth  of who and why and what and how.
But still I spin in meadows green and down before his power bow.

“My ways are not your ways,” he says. “And I will fix this earth again;
But you must trust me first my child,
And to my providence must bend.”


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