After The Flood Poem by April Humason

In a world freshly washed by rain,
I stumbled beneath a silent pain.
Not pride, not strength, but fragile breath,
A weary soul near its own depth.

The vine grew full beneath my hand,
A gift I could not understand.
One cup too much, a blurred disguise,
A moment lost behind my eyes.

I did not fall from hatred's place,
But weariness I could not face.
A man who carried wooden beams,
Now lost inside forgotten dreams.

Shame touched ground where I once stood tall,
A quiet, human kind of fall.
Not evil's grip, not devil's scheme —
Just broken breath, just fading gleam.

Yet not abandoned where I lay,
God's mercy did not drift away.
No thunder spoke, no fire fell—
Only grace that knew me well.

I rose again, not proud, but true,
A man who slipped, yet still He knew.
Not bound by fall, not cast aside —
Still carried by the tide.