A Poem for Easter Weekend

This Holy City

We paused under the overpass
Begging shelter from the rain,
The hail, the despair.
Remarkably overcast,
The sky like a stain
Seems vaguely unfair.

The sky shatters
And I audibly pray my windshield won't.
This is the beginning of a journey.
People like cars are bruised and battered.
You'd think they feel remorse, but they don't.
We are still learning.

The world is a flood.
Recycling bins float by me
Tainting the streets with good intentions.
Our only hope is holy blood
To pay our ransom fee.
We each seek redemption.
Set us free! Set us free!
From this city of mud
And human inventions.
Rain pours down as I stand beneath a tree,
Enveloped in the filth of this Holy City.