Droplets of a winter storm pound down,
pour out, and soak me.
Relentlessly
with no intentions of stopping soon.
This storm seems
to have ended not too long ago,
but I know better.
This is a different storm
with more damage in store
and its intensity much higher.
The only resemblance between the two
is the factor.
This one has brewed much longer
and too long at that.
For the damage it has caused
already is worse
than that of the previously endeavored storm
similar to its kind.
There is enough rain already to break a levee.
Only a few more hours of these dark,
gray, hideous and overcast skies
that lead to melancholy days
And all remaining forms of barriers
will be forever gone.
There will be no way for repairing it this time,
the oncoming damages are unavoidable at all costs.


All the while, though
a fire of a desperately parched desert
burns deep within my soul.
A fire that longs and desires
for you to come back;
A heart that burns,
just thinking of all the 'should-have-beens',
And all the pasttime positives of
such a kind.
Such a burning that it prevails over
all the constantly filled skylines of clouds
that pour out all forms of
current-time negative forms of precipitation.
Precipitation that punishes my heart for ever loving.
Barely,
but this burning prevails nonetheless.


But all the prevailing in the world
couldn't dry out or do away with
these terrible conditions.
I glance around,
only to see if there's an end in sight.
Of course,
there is none.
As I search for sun & the weather
of that of those seemingly yester days we had,
a bolt of lightning streaks across the
winter stormy skyline, Heaven, Hell,
and every elsewhere beings' living grounds
only to prove
that just when I thought the cloudbursts
could worsen no more...
They could and most certainly would.
For they were senseless.
The lightning's illumination allowed
all forms of existence
to look into a previous life.
A look into a life that was at
sometime full of happier,
oh so much happier times.
Times spent in the sunshine,
when rays overtook me.
Times full of warmth, laughter, smiles.
Days spent wrapped up
in your arms,
and the only rain that fell was rain
of summer showers to
only ease drought is occasionally brought.
and the sweet smell of you lying close beside me,
in a green meadow surrounded by flowers...
A picturesque scene.
It was all I could have ever dreamed of.
Days when things were perfect,
A romance better than Noah and Allie's.
Days I now call 'then'.



Now, however, the storm
takes me back to reality:
Those days are long gone.
These are the days I must now live in... Suffer through!
Cold, lonely, helpless, isolated from the world, overcast, and Hellacious.
The factor that started these hours
is the same of that which
gave me the days of emotions that were
completely opposite of these.
Seconds turned into minutes,
minutes into hours.
Hours into days,
days into weeks,
and weeks into months.
Months in which promises were made
to never bring me to these days again.
All in vain,
so worthlessly meaningless.
I want so badly
to shake you and ask,
'Where did what used to be go! ? '
To shake you as boldly,
painfully, and hard enough to make you
realize, just as the winds blown in
from this winter storm,
caused by you,
have shaken me!


But I can't think of shaking you
any longer because
I'm quickly snapped back to reality
once again.
A pattern has become apparent:
Just when I figure out
what may help,
even if it was possible,
the storm progresses...
Giving me yet another run for my money.
Winds tossing me around,
rain piercing my skin colder than a blanket of ice ever could.
It wants me to realize
that nothing can stop it.
I wonder if thinking of
the days we once had,
the days that gave me
oh so much joy,
and the days I reminisce on now...
Times that give me a single solitaire moment
of happiness
(as a result from a lightning flash)
is worth the pain from the
ever-so-careless storm punishes me
with in return.
God, why must my fate
be so cruel?
Before I can figure out the answer
to my puzzle,
I hear the words you said.
'This is what I want; I want you',
thundering out, hurtful as well as loud.
The problem pressed upon me
is careless, senseless, heartless.
Just like the owner that brewed this,
as well as unleashed it upon me,
has become.
I thought the last storm was bad?
Never again.
This one signifies
the exiting of all happiness from my life
for good.
Therefore,
this storm
will never end because a lifetime without you,
and what used to be,
means a lifetime full
of this unavoidable despair and sorrow.
This is a treacherous, never-ending
journey, I see.
So the only option left
is what I take.
I play hide-and-seek;
Hiding from this storm &
still inadvertedly seeking you
along with the pastime wonders.
How miraculous they felt,
(and flashbacks make them feel)
unreal to the senses of my body now.
The more I seek,
the less I can hide.
So stop seeking?
Impossible.
My heart is stuck in the days
we once spent together,
and moving on seems more impossible
than to ever stop seeking.
and the more I seek you,
warmth, and a care for anything I once
possessed...
The colder I feel.
As if the more optimistic thoughts
I have only work in the versus of themselves:
It hurts worse.
Where does one go from here?
Not away.
There is no 'away'.
For the storm reigning down on me,
by Satan Himself,
follows me.
I've walked for miles
and am yet to find an 'away'.
To make things worse,
he puts more heartless, intentionally cruel
words into my head
that the coldhearted factorer
I once loved said.
His purpose for this
seems to be that they will
serve as yet another unnecessary reminder
that the past is the past,
& that this winter throwdown
will be my present and future.


Why, oh why, Father time,
must you change your subject
from one extreme to the other?
No warnings
so one can run & hide, cover up,
leave, protect, or prevent?
The waterworks are slow,
but surely,
breaking down the remaining damns.
I look for a tree to sit under,
or a warm blanket to clothe myself in.
Like usual,
there is none of the luxuries I so wish for,
and I believe I know why.
Why would a storm which apparently churned for so long,
when it finally hits,
allow any luxuries in which would ease
the pain it is so looking forward to
continue inflicting?
and to add to its intensity,
there are no escape,
or alternate, routes provided.
So I wait.
Days slur on,
and weeks drag by,
and yet... Still I sit in this world.
Gray, destitute, solitaire.
The only thing keeping me
not freezing to death,
dying from pain from the lightning strikes,
or deafened by the words thundered out ever so often,
is the hope that the Devil
and his storm: Storm of all storms,
cannot and will not take from me.
Days of happiness lie above in
the Heavens with my Father.
There I will have my answers, too.
Maybe, just maybe,
I done something to press upon
these extravaganzas of this winter Hell?
Said the wrong words,
wasn't good enough,
or acted the wrong way?
I open my mouth
to cry out for help,
only for it to be filled with words.
Words as bitter as the hail-sized raindrops
pouring down.
The difference is that the amplitude
of my words
is not yet as high as
the salty concentration
of all the numerous drops flooding in.


So I shut my mouth.
Purse my lips, wrinkle the forehead,
and lie down.
After a while of strength,
I lose it.
My bottom lip quivers.
I shrivel up, shake, and feel the
rain run down my cheeks.
Uselessly awaiting for some miracle.
I close my eyes,
and it ends.

-- January 12, 2009.