The Storm

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It’s always darkest before dawn. That’s what I am told.

So then why is it only getting darker and darker the more i wait for my dawn.

There are no birds chirping. Only the grasshoppers playing their song of the night.

I want my dawn. Yet all i get is my darkness.


The drip drop of my personal thunderstorm is as cold as ice.

It crackles and booms and yet stays softly secret from others.

I am an upside-down umbrella collecting the rain of this weather, bound to overflow.

What will happen when I do? Will I implode from the pressure or be better by it?

Only time will tell. Time will wait to tell.


I feel the need to scream. To shout.

But i can’t say a word. Can’t be loud.

Words are my enemy because they don’t work to help me.

They are only full of sound and bury me further away from the light.

O dark sky! Move the clouds that keep you from your bright days!


I realize something. This chaos is unruly but can be made into a soothing calm.

My dawn is still coming, but I cannot wallow in self pity and wait for change on its own.

I must reach my hands out to the sky and pull the sun in my corner of the ring.

When has change for the better occurred when no action is made? Never is when.

So dawn, get ready to fill my sky.






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