You lay there,
smashed into obscurity,
deluged with all that a stormy heaven could hurl.
Yet you don’t drown in your sorrows
or address invitations to a well-deserved pity-party.
you lie where you’ve fallen,
a pummelled version of your famed beauty,
and you bloom.
How dare you?
What makes you think you can stake your claim to beauty
down there in the dirt?
Why do you answer with this slow smile,
this peaceful glow on cherubic cheeks?
What do you have that
that yours is a beauty of
“For I hold you by your right hand – I, the Lord your God. And I say to you, Don’t be afraid, for I am here to help you.” Isaiah 41:13