The Storm

Photo by Oleg Magni on

I’m caught in a twister. I’ve sewn seeds of destruction. I am working. I’m getting stuff done. That’s what I tell myself. Really I’m ripping up the Earth, tearing through the city, not noticing or caring about my own destructive wake. I’m am the twister.

I am the storm, raining on the just and the unjust alike. I am the dark cloud. The sun in all it’s glory shines through me, but only after I’ve emptied myself of all the rain I can hold. And the rain drenches and floods… Yet I’m free now to be transparent enough so that the light can shine through.

I’m caught in a breeze, high in the sky. It sends me to and fro, taking me where I wish not to go. But then the only reason I don’t want to go is my own ego. What if I just drift? What if I just sail on the airy sea, with nothing but open air below me?

I wonder what it feels like to stand on solid ground. I long for the bliss of flying with other clouds. I see the stars above at night and wish to be with them. Never satisfied. Never done. Racing. Endless, nightmarish racing.

I’m growing heavier with the water vapors of the world. Sinking lower… dragged down. The only relief will be to cry and cry until I’m weightless once more. And the cycle will continue. The highs and the lows. The melodies and the groans. The rage and being alone. The euphoria and the woe.

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