Weathered

There's a clarity in

falling rain

you can't find in much

anything else;

in the way the sound dulls

out your pain;

in the times you've let

yourself melt

into the dripping world around you.

 

There's some comfort in the

thunder loud;

the sort that shakes

reality

from pieces that make

continents proud

into bits smaller than

the smallest bee; 

the sort that's bearable to push through.

 

There's a type of complacency in a

lightning strike;

a manifestation of

what you can't explain.

Nothing may ever be

perfectly alright,

but even electricity

exists in pounding rain

and what's one more storm to get through.

 

There's a carelessness

in the calm of the night;

an attitude that assumes

the win.

Something that makes

writers write

and broken lovers

begin again--

but maybe, it's what the storm is meant to do.

 

So rain pounds hard on pavement dry

and lightning strikes on broken ground,

thunder shakes the wishful skies

and the storm reigns judgement down

on words that need to be written

and hands that need to be held

and silence falls and time stands still

for all the hearts

the storm compelled.

Reviews

[Beccy]

I love the rain, the majesty of thunder and lighting; and the way you have used them to describe life's journey is outstanding.

I adore this poem, especially the last verse, which is exquisitely woven.

Beccy.