THE STORM.

The Storm

The trees emulate

against the storm.

They bend with the wind

and ride with the rain.

The storm is cursed with freedom.

Everything is short of freedom.

Hope is divided by one thing.

That the end is a beginning and

the beginning will end.

The road is blocked with water;

a man is trying to get out of the water,

he swims and swims and does not

stop swimming.

Some things cannot be changed,

like tires or rocket shuttles;

some new beginnings turn to

endings,

and things aren't broken.

The river is not flooded or

destined to be flooded.

The stream is not a stream;

hope is not shattered.

I have not lost my will to survive

the storm,

I have not lost my will to end

the surviving dream.

Take what you will and follow

the stream;

the heartache is not in your hand.

I do not beat a steady thrum.

Shadows flock a will of its own.