All the same OR I’m wading through a hurricane

I am wading through a hurricane
you’ve turned on the industrial fan
you’ve aimed the hose at my front
the sulfur water abusing my arms, my chest,
my eyelids, flesh petals
strained to do their duty to guard my eyes
but they are petals
against liquid shards of glass that don’t slice
but bruise and bruise as they pass
all the while You tell me I’m going in the right direction
towards heaven
am I supposed to believe my feet are sturdy on solid ground
when all I can feel is the pain
that throbs within from the elements without?

Copyright © 2018 A.M. Wilsonne