The wind howls.
The rain slams into my house at 100 miles per hour.
It’s almost like a sheet of wet pouring from the skies,
Or the invasion of ten thousand and one angry, irate flies.
The trees shake.
Their branches quiver at the slight of the wind.
They look so unsure and much less confident than before,
Almost depressed at the beating yet bracing for a whole lot more.
The sky grays.
A shadow of stoic unmet expectation falls.
It proceeds to cast its doubt on basically everything in my sight,
It steals the brightness that was once so prevalent in life.
Yet still truth.
Maybe the rain and the storm in passing is warranted.
The act of letting go, so violently is symbolic as the water falls,
Just as well, when storms come and go those trees, nourished, will once again stand tall.
Written by: Michael “Bboy Roach1” Roach