The storm comes,
with ferocity it roars across the landscape.
Ruining the farm land, destroying the forests.
I run for shelter within my own home.
I sit and wait, cursing at the storm as my pendulous bulb sways,
throwing shadows over the walls.
The shadows dance to an unfathomable jig, forever dancing on my walls.
until the storm seems to have passed and at long last the jig is interrupted.
I relinquish my sheltered post to venture into the world,
my house disheveled, the landscape torn.
But mend able is everything in sight.
I look to the north, the storm brews just ahead, is that where it came from?
Is there more to come?
Is this only the eye of the storm?
Or did it come from the south? This storm may be only half over.
I look to the south but i am blinded by the sunlight.
Is this salvation from the storm or only an omen for whats to come?
Only time will tell.
I take my chances and run to those I care for.
Are they alright?
Do they need help?
I will find them out, under debris or rubble
I will pry them from whatever hole they have been caught in.
I will take my chance that there is no eye in this storm,
and that it the sunlight was true salvation.
I hope my chance taken will not be in vain.