our prayers are like raindrops
falling upward into the sky.

the sharp stinging needles of anger and guilt,
the cold wet snowflakes of grief,
our thankfulness the warm spring rain; awakening things to life.

yet what is watered is not heaven,
but our own souls.

drenching the seeds we choose to sow.

slowly filling the empty landscape that is our life,
our legacy.

drought, flood, hailstorms, bounty,
our words are what create the landscape of our souls.