A beautiful sunny day
the birds chirping,
butterflies flutter by
and then silence.
The calm before the storm.

It is almost beautiful, how serene it is
but you know what's coming.
This storm. The hurricane.
The storm of clouds and rain.
The Hurricane of darkness and fear.

Rush inside as the heavens,
or better, the gates of hell,
open up.
But you can't escape all of it.
The rain still seeps in
and becomes a part of you.

You are inside,
waiting at the window,
scrutinizing the storm with a gaze so fierce
it matches the storm's eye.

It rains on.
And rains.
And rains.
And rains.

You must not give up.
Soon you will see
those golden tendrils,
sweet as honeydew,
as beautiful as a marigold.

For if we have one thing,
it is hope.
Hope for that the day will come
when we can go outside again
and rebuild what this monster destroyed.
Hope that the sunlight will return,
that it will be as sweet,
nay, sweeter,
than ever before.