A torrent of torment
When it passes through life,
It leaves behind a rare calm,
For you to gather the pieces
After the storm.
The drumming and howling
Of last night
Have died down,
Along with your hopes
For the familiar sun.
The wind has dropped
Its gears of introspection,
To count your dead
And find the breathing.
Go! Walk through
The vale of rubble,
To find the remains
Of what remains,
Then circle back
To those days
That rest before yesterday,
When everything was merry,
When everything was fine.
We know nothing of tomorrow,
Or what the weather may bring.
There will be more storms,
But that does not mean
We can’t pick us up.