The night was dark and the ground was cold

the day the rocks shifted and shook in their place,

breaking up buildings and streets and cars and

shattering lampposts in their space.

The night was dark and the ground was cold

that day when the little girl broke;

no streets lost their shavings, no lightbulbs when out

but the damage was there, stroke for stroke.

They questioned that girl as the years went by

asking why she became who she did;

unable to see that the damage to souls

is as great at the ground's slips and skids.

"If a quake hits a building and knocks it right down,"

she questioned her detractors there;

"would you build it again just as strong as the first?

Or would you take a little more care?"

"Well, of course it'd be stronger,"

the crowd answered fast; as soon as she posted the query;

"To build it back up just to watch it fall down

is insanity, truly and clearly."

"And so there's your answer,"

the girl then replied with her hands folded onto her chest;

"to build back a soul just to be torn apart

is a foolish and futile quest."

For what this girl knows that those whole

and unshaken could just never quite understand

is this:

Some people are destined

((by fate or by God or by chance or whate'er it may be))

to live on a faultline and be shaken and tested

and fall down--that part is key.

But when they fall down

these folks rebuild so much stronger than ever before.

And after the quake they're not quite what they were

for the shaking rolls down to their core.