wildfires in a pandemic

It’s three in the afternoon,
and a gloomy pall, orange and thick,
hovers overhead as in the last days
of Pompeii.
                    An unholy eclipse,
choking and burning the eyes,
cloaks already fretful hearts
and enshrouds the mind
with thoughts that, even masked,
we will gasp for every breath.
                         Ash falls like wafers
of deadly manna, a grim residue
on parched ground, the weight of one
more straw that breaks our spirits
if not our backs. 
               The censors of our souls send
prayers into the polluted atmosphere,
hoping that they will be accepted as
burnt offerings and smoky sacrifice
by a god who must be tired of
our weary whining.
                 If rocks can cry out, perhaps
a breeze will come and whisper-sing
“hosanna” as it blows the ash
away from our bleating mouths.

Liz McFadzean

“If the sky is falling… I sit on the floor of my closet, where the air is the closest to clean, and I pray for rain.  It feels silly, to ask God for this miracle.  But then I remember—it’s about my faith in God being able to redeem big things.  So I pray for rain—not because I think God will bring it, but because I want to show him I believe he can.”
                                                         Meredith Barnes <Frecklesandfortitude.com>

“Come and hear, all you who fear God,
  and I will tell what he has done for my soul.
I cried to him with my mouth
  and high praise was on my tongue…
Blessed be God,
  because he has not rejected my prayer
  or removed his steadfast love from me!”                    Psalm 66:16-18, 20

To hear me read the poem "Wildfires in a Pandemic" and others, go to Instagram and search "Poems4quarantine".