The Storm

At first all is calm

But then the clouds turn gloomy

The sky churns its wicked brew

And the tempest begins to prowl

The wind

Rough as a freight train

Whistles like a troublemaking child

Then elicits a harrowing scream

The rain

Bombing the earth with war-torn muck

Darkens the soil, and erodes the onlooker

Indiscriminate as to its purpose

The sea

Thumping and crashing

Whipping the cliff

Crumbling the bluff

The trees

Swaying nervously like frightened youths

Splashing their green leaves like paint

Falling in deference to nature’s tyranny

The sky

Looming with nightmares

Offering only desolation

Consuming the color of the cyclone

The light

Pausing the unstoppable chaos

Only to pierce the aching air

And serve beacon to all who witness

Truly nothing outshines this noble flame

Trouncing the dark veil of the heavens

Vividly sowing new virtues

Is it begotten by the Sun or the Divine?

Yet even now, the luminous fire

Of hope succeeding the storm

Cannot hold a candle

To the glow of Her face

The face that inspires me to say

At last all is calm

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