The storm in the west
Building in my chest
Worries me to the point of defeat.
The hope inside
is directly derived
from the sun rising in the east.
Which will come sooner?
The hope or the rage?
The dove or the cage?
At noon, I guess I'll be able to see
If the sun or the storm came to rescue me.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for the Lost and Found
Poetrythe joyous ache of releasing this rain how cathartic it is to speak these words and allow them to see the light of day
