The soft green grass blows in the wind

Now picking up speed

And hastening its intensity.

Its desire solely to stir up emotions from our past.

 

Branches swaying,

Breaking,

Crashing heavily to the ground.

 

Frightening Foolish passerbys  running around trying to find shelter.

Why?

The storm-maker will always be here to reconcile with us

By using these gifts of precious time.

Blackening the world above us

As if it was painted with ink.

 

I am only one of few

That can see its true advocacy

So I run outside and catch a glimpse at the night sky

And stare at it provocatively

Just before my favourite time arises.

Not the rain,

It has no emotion

 

But what is truly glorious,

Is its booming brother.

LIGHTNING!

And its lover, thunder.

I stand in the midst of the darkness,

As these two sing their tune,

Lightning strikes its mark,

And thunder follows its partner’s ways.

 

Include me

In your passionate dance of rejuvenation.

Strike me down

Burn me to a crisp.

Why should it matter anyways?

We all need to be shocked back into reality,

And the storm-maker takes it upon himself to do so.

So I stand,

In the middle of the still blowing soft green grass,

Dripping with rain, sorrow, and uncertainty.

 

So strike me,

STRIKE ME DOWN!

BURN ME!

And wake me up.