Pools of crimson stain the streets.
People running, hiding, covering themselves and those near them,
Fear ensues, then pain, followed by anger and rage,
Faces and heads shrouded in black,
Too cowardly to show themselves,
Misdirected,
Searching,
Groping for something to believe in,
Something to hang on to,
Do they find peace in causing others pain or in ending lives?
Where is the righteousness?
Blood flows from a beaten, smitten corpse,
Hanging on an instrument of torture,
This One not taking life, but giving it through His own precious blood.
That is righteousness, bought and paid for the ugliest of us.
Refreshing, cleansing rain falls softly on an eager earth,
Thirsting for relief and longing for renewal and rebirth.
The tears of God bring respite for the dying soul,
He gave His only Son to fill a gaping hole,
The hole that widens every day,
When we forget to turn to Him and pray,
As branches dance and lightening fills the air,
I think of Him who takes away each care.
We see the need for God’s power to inspire us once again,
To cleanse our hearts and wash souls in His refreshing rain.
atimetoshare.me 
There for a while, I had lost context and thought you were talking about the riots. I am still praying. I hope all is well.
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I was speaking about the riots at first and the injustice. Followed by the righteous act of almighty God who took our place.
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Okay, so I read it as it was intended. You made your transition so subtle – or my mind is not functioning up to par. I might have to go for the latter.
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You’re 😄
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What I should have said was that this poem was powerful and well done.
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Thanks, Mark. I knew what you meant.
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