by Claire Booth

you who is flailing 
whose sails are beyond repairing 
whose feet creak on rotting wood
revealing got to’s, must have’s, and should’s 

you who is cowering 
over the railing’s edge in tears
blackened mist of a brooding storm 
does little to squelch your fears

you who is imagining 
how all of this could end 
have isolated your throbbing heart
from your Father, Brother, and Friend 

you who is refusing
to see Him not far from reach 
letting the wind mangle His hair
tasting brine between His cheeks 

He who crafts every ripple
braiding waves from seas to shores
who cradles clouds as newborn doves
feathers tufts of rain into their pores

He who studies the aging wood
knows every splinter and gap
in lightning’s brilliance He charges to life
through His voice—the thunder clap

you of little faith, He says 
as a Father to His son 
not in chastise, but to fix our eyes
on the Alpha, Omega in one

let whitened knuckles unfurl loose 
and hearts obey with glee
for storms are only scary 
when you forget that you have Me 

Claire Booth is a new believer in Christ looking to channel her love for poetry into worshipping the Lord. She currently lives in Washington state where she spends her free time reading the Word and listening to sermons.