In the Midst of Storms

The rain falls in a fury,
flails against the walls,
against the windows
like a hoard of Mongols at the gates of Rome,
unrelenting, angry,
wind whipped, frenzied
as you sit inside, a single candle flickering
as if even here, the wind has its way.
Will history win the day?
Will these two hundred year old walls hold
once again,
or is this the time the groaning beams
finally surrender?

You sip your tea.
And wait.

About this poem

At times, things seem overwhelming. Life feels dark. I feel too small to survive. When I am in such times, I tell myself I have survived worse. But not always with conviction.

Oh, and we had a heck of a rainstorm last night.

Tom