All My Inequities

In the morning rain I feel clean When God’s breath rushes over me As I wake from the confessional Of sleep, all my inequities left on The battlefield of dreams

The drum roll of rain patters across rooftops, the swoosh of Water slides between tire and road I wake with a trumpet blast to sin no more

Have you stood in the rain with your Mouth open, hoping to end a thirst carried Since childhood? I have. Crucified arms Stretch wide, my eyes and mouth open To accepting Heaven

Each drop stands hard and raw Against my skin and tongue, forgive me But I know what I did. I walk inside Clear drops slide off me, my thirst Still greedy and wanting

But for what

The problem with the morning rain Is that it stops, the world goes back To normal, people wake up, and God’s Drum solo ends with the ding Of coffee cups and car alarms honking

And I’m dirty again

_________________________ Michael Ritoch plays at being a poet/writer. He finds joy in his wife, two daughters, cats, one is really fat and the other is neurotic, reading philosophy written by old dead guys, and his friends. He writes about leadership, pain, life, suffering, and whatever comes to mind.

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