Storm

The constant droning of rain

the thunder and the lightning,

the lashing of cold, harsh

wind against my mapped face.

Stinging drops of life

that barge into my room,

to slap me in my face.

The ominous rumbling of angry Gods.

The loud clatter of gathering streams

from pipes and drains.

The whisper of the leaves that speak of joy

and answered prayers

A darkened room

occasionally lit by arrows of lightening.

A little puppy afraid of its first storm.

And I…

an onlooker of all this might

of creation and destruction.

so much a part of it all

and yet so apart….

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