Born of a storm

Clouds meet the sea on horizons of fear

and dark the days numbered one on to three

that harbours and hides the immortal truth

from the ordinary man in the street.

And as I peered through the eye of the storm

the knowing of more spread fulsome and free

like love breaking through the shackles of life

and losing the chains of anxiety.

But it pays not to count the days, months, years,

or wonder who calls an end to the storm

when given free reign to rage undisturbed

until peace the end result of it all.

I stand in the midst of my raging storm

aware of the sun playing hide and seek

but it tempts in vain this one in the know

that for every storm there’s a better “me”.

The sun plays its games; dark clouds have their day,

and I surely am in awe of this storm

that shakes, rattles, rolls, a once neutral state

and brings a new dawn right to my front door.

And I heard it knock persistently sure

again, again, over, over again,

for a new dawn is love born of a storm

trained to knock and knock over again!

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