If I Were a Poet

There is no stillness anywhere, no place where nothing moves.
Our blood moves through our veins
like the river leaping over rocks and dams.
A universe hides in each leaf, a mystery in each flower.

I’ve heard it said
that looking at the world in all its brokenness,
it is impossible to imagine a God of love.
But broken things when repaired
are more beautiful than before,
and one cannot imagine such beauty without God.

God, if you’re running this show,
we’d just like a preview of the twists in the plot.
A seven-year-old boy is playing a first-person shooter game
in his affluent suburban home;
For another seven-year-old boy, in a different part of town, it’s not a game.

Why does it rain?
No one really knows,
but it brings life, and it brings death.