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Even the Tempest

A cloud rolls in

Dark, ominous, foreboding.

Opacity can't obscure

What lies inside.

Dense with the accrual

Of pent up rage,

Power inspires awe for

What it holds in. Not for

What it lets go.

The anticipation of storms

Shaking more of heaven and earth

Than Storm’s arrival.


Sagging under the weight

Of repressed tears.

The cloud hangs.

Reluctantly.

Dragging under the pressure

Of depressed atmosphere

The cloud releases

Eventually.


A cloud rolls away.

Lighter, airy, unburdened.

Carried by Aeolus to new

Horizons. Those tears

Having purpose beyond

Falling or colliding

With hard earth.

Each hit softening starved

turf yearning for more.

Each drop watering dormant

Seeds awaiting awakening.

The echoes of a Storm passed.


Wash away topsoil

To bear witness

To sprouts that

Flourish.

Harsh, but not hostile.

Even the Tempest

Holds power to

Nourish.


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