a bit of arm here

some blood over there

strewn across the battlefield

is God amongst the broken things

we build and build

homes and marriages and companies and machines and books

but they all have a shelf life

they all expire

everything always falls apart

we cannot resist the rising tide

that swallows our constructions whole

until all that is left

are the bits and pieces and traces and vestiges

of what once was

torn apart

by reality

and yet

in the brokenness

she saw beauty

for God is there too

and all the intentions of woman and man

remain

waiting for a Day

when our stories will finally be told

by the only One who saw it all