It’s a cool afternoon in a Colorado spring,
Green and lush and blue into the sky.
The snow is gone for the summer,
and life begins again beneath a butterscotch sun.
I saw your grave, the marker of your life and death,
and I remembered, I remembered how your spirit
led me to The Lord and to a better world out of shadows,
to a Light that made we clean and whole again.
But the Light has gone dark, the butterscotch sun
soured into vinegar, and I see the blood on Jesus’ hands
is not solely his own, and I’ve seen him sold out for
silver and power, and a sneer on the lost in the gutter.
I try to be loving and giving and forgiving like you,
but faith slips away from me, as God is silent in his undoing,
in the tears of those left out, left behind, and cursed to night.
In those that wonder how the Light burns the world.
Rachel, can you hear me? Can Jesus or anyone else hear me?
I need bravery and faith to fight these demons and their kin,
those who wash away the world with the blood that saved them,
that stamp on the cross while kneeling before it.
Rachel can you hear me? Can I feel the heart again that led me
to Heaven and the hope of peace after the madness burns me,
that showed the world with the Light behind it, bright and warm?
Can I feel close to the way you showed, when you spirit took my hand?
Rachel can you hear me?
For Rachel Joy Scott