A slightly completely rambling and nonsensical poem

Hiding is not sheltering from a storm,

hiding is in fear of death

or mortal injury, or worse.

Collected in a hearse, not dead.

Except inside my head.

Sheltering is not hiding, unless it’s raining,

It’s only water, you think, not complaining.

Sheltered under an old tree, rain distaining

Struck by lightning, branches falling

disaster calling. This storm’s appalling.

There is no shelter there,

just despair.

Not that there is anyone to care.

Sheltered is an ‘almost’ state of being.

You’re safe of course,

as long as you’re not fleeing,

or is it just a danger you’re not seeing?

Sheltered, does not mean warm,

or even dry.

Might be defined as “probably you won’t die,”

But if you do, who’ll know? Who’ll care? Who’ll cry?

or maybe it’s a metaphor for secluded.

You think you’re safe, but maybe you’re deluded.

Secluded means you haven’t been included.

So maybe you’re not safe, not safe at all.

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Psalm 36:7 RKV. How precious is your loving kindness, Lord! The children of men take refuge, sheltered under the shadow of your wings.

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Moonwashed Weekly Prompt – Sheltered