Struck Down but Not Destroyed

The rain fell,
and it fell, and it kept falling
until our lives were flushed out the door
and washed away with the trees and the cars.

A thief in the night stole our love.
Everything we once shared
was packed in boxes in the hall,
waiting for the truck that would drive away,
leaving only a ring
to remind me of what pressure can do to coal.

Someday the old one will come,
knocking on my door,
reading my name from the scroll in his hand.
I will do whatever he demands,
throwing everything into the fire.
And even when skin and bone have turned to ash,
I may be struck down, but not destroyed.