Cycle of the Storm

You sip on the water.
Clear. Cold.

The day is near done,
as are you.

Too many memories for one day.
Too many thoughts

for a man as simple as you,
a man easily overwhelmed,
by the day to day,

much less the deep things,
of people you love, lost
and found.

You sip.
The cold liquid colors your throat as it goes down
and for a moment, just that and no more,
you are back in the moment,

before your unruly thoughts rage rampant yet again.

No matter.
You have been here before.
You know the drill, the need to fight and fight and fight
until there is nothing left,

and then, only then, you surrender
and let the storm wash over you,
let the thunder deafen you,
allow the lightening to blind you,

until the storm abates,
the lies pass you by
and your mind is your own again,
and you rise,

not broken, note even spent,
rising
stronger for your understanding
of the cycle of the storm.

About this poem. 

Before you think I am in a dark place today, I’m not.

Believe it or not, I was listening to Sinatra this afternoon (That’s Life), and from that song, this poem.

Tom