Every once in a while, I write a poem worth sharing.
Dedicated to my friends who feel the waters lapping at their feet. Also, if you don’t understand it, go read Exodus 14.
These salted waves lap up against the shore.
A small crab scuttles past. Bitter, I frown.
They say the Earth will flood again no more,
But here, upon this beach, I may yet drown.
He led us out, this mighty man of God
Who cursed the Pharaoh, slew his very son,
Then led us here—this dismal path we’ve trod!—
To lose our freedom—here—so newly won.
Back there, in Egypt, we had homes, not tents.
They made us work, but gave us meat to eat.
Now they draw close with murderous intent.
I’ll beg for mercy, grovel at their feet.
Trapped here, against this sea, I raise my cries.
The wind is roaring, and the waters rise.