Thoughts, Emotions, Change

Sudden Storm

Maybe

Maybe was the thought that passed through a cautious mind

One full of ash from that which burned around it

A single thought of "perhaps this time it'll be different"

A hope was created, and from those ashes life bloomed

Flowers blossomed and saplings sprouted in the settling aftermath of what was a hail storm

Maybe, just maybe, they could survive this time

The forecast hadn't called for a tornado

No news for a sudden flood, the dam that held in the freezing waters back were released

The mind was flooded, and in a desperate attempt tried to swim for safety

Yet the dock above was unstable, already crumbling from the uncertainty that was this risk

Almost

Almost was what the beauty had done to the remains of a lost soul

Almost did the beauty entrap the poor, threatening to drag back under the churning sea of blue and green

Afraid for what would happen it swam against the current

Strong was the waves that hounded the mind

Harsh was the chilling cold water that pierced down to bone

Impossible was the realization of the reality when it set it

Another repeat of history it seemed

Mind warped by the promises of safety

Heart cursed with the need to confirm

And yet the soul still felt so empty

Yet burned in the end by what the past being drugged to the future can do, the soul stands by waiting for the sun to shine through the murky waters

Waiting for that hand to hold and pull into a warm embrace

Although the mind and heart agree the foolishness of it all, the lost soul refuses to accept another defeat

Enough

Enough is what bursts through the crack seams and broken glass

Butterflies explode in a brilliance of light, dancing through the air as they take flight

Enough with the giddy, the roller coaster of guilt

Enough with the sadness and overwhelming feel of you did something wrong

Enough is the song that is sang as the lost soul relaxes against the crashing waves

Allowing the sea to soothe their muscles, the lost soul drifts

Not to nor fro, but in the middle

The sea doesn't tug but neither does the soul move to get to safety

Merely bobbing in place

While the storm above roars on, the sea avoids, and for once things make sense

A rose doesn't die once cut

It reblooms

And both stems end with a bud ready to start again

For if one was the choice after another, then the first never was truly real