Monday
Cumulonimbus, in purples and lavender greys
it’s heavy with rain . . .
it smells like rain, feels like pain,
but there’s little need to look back again
because it’s just more of the same
cutting it deep
Lightning rains from the heavens above,
the brilliant flashes of pure white light . . .
it illuminates all but the darkest and sacred of corners
in a room where the walls are ever-changing,
re-arranging the unfathomable fractures of the soul
sadly caught up in a crystalline hurricane
One thing is tragically clear,
a storm has settled over here,
as the clouds shift their gossamer form . . .
with a heart on the mend, tired of trying to bend
the soul looks for the eye of the storm
And maybe hope will rain
someday . . .
thunderstorms provide such great perspective, don’t they? remind us that we’re alive… at least momentarily.
Those clouds. And the potential destructive power. Makes me feel more alive and humble.
Let me count the ways in which I can I can relate to this…..
*shaking head*
tired, so tired . I hear you.
we had a great thunderstorm last night. And it’s wonderfully cooler this morning. Maybe a few more days without turning on the a/c. (I need to get out and pull weeds!)
Your twisted mind has produced another mysteriously sensual poem! And, not knowing your intentions, I still think it’s sad that a phrase like “caught up in a crystalline hurricane” makes me think you’re referring to someone hooked on meth. I wish it didn’t. “Crystalline” is such a melodious word.
Young lady, huh? Okay, I’ll make that “charmingly twisted.”