Tumult

I am the hurricane that shakes,
The devious earth that quakes,
The senseless distraction that takes,
The great heart-emptiness that aches.
 
I am an 11:58 submission,
Cold, relentless opposition,
Cruelty without contrition,
Disaster’s very disposition.
 
I am discouragement unending,
The dreaded axe descending,
The revolution’s blade upending,
The Virginian’s quill unbending.
 
I am busyness that cannot satisfy,
Rumors that unfairly vilify,
Meaningless death of a butterfly,
Blasphemous mob shouting Crucify.
 
I am the nail in Luther’s paper,
A plane impaling a skyscraper,
Wind’s voice taunting, Life is a vapor,
So you can never be an escaper.
 
I am not the torch of justice,
I am not a hiding place.
I am not a hand extended,
I am not a family mended.
I can never give you grace.
 
I am not a wise oration,
Not a noble aspiration,
Not a hopeful expectation,
Not the joy of His salvation.
Abide with me no more.