Swollen Skies and Empty Sighs
Sorrow hangs in the air
like clouds shroud the hills,
weighing on my soul
like an unbroken sob.
Whence comes our help?
We lift our eyes to the hills
and see swollen skies:
flat, white clouds,
blotting out beauty,
eclipsing hope.
An empty sigh forms;
no tears to fill it.
This simple act of expiration,
is not of desperation,
for we know there are peaks
behind the clouds,
and breath behind the sigh.
Peaks that will be revealed
in radiant white,
gleaming with snow.
We know they are there,
we just can't see them today.
Lord, let the the terminus
of this sorrow
be peace,
as the clouds bring us snow.
Dona nobis pacem.
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