When the weather closes in around you
And the ferocious winds turn against you
When the rain falls like bullets to hurt you
And thunder deafens like cruel words
Then lightning, continuous, trying to shock you
I will be there
Your hand in mine
To help you shelter
Find the calmness after every storm
I’m the relief in the burst of sudden sun rays
The bandage for all your wounds
Il silence the thunder into peace and birdsong
I am the earth that absorbs the lightning
I will hold you tight
I will see you right
Some sunlit Sunday when the wind began to paint; swirling lines around windowed tombstones,
Chroming dull, jutting decay and the ironic dancing of litter; saturated with audacities,
Shading the herding commuters with realism and the scattered loiterers in impressionism.
Not forgetting the multi-toning of everything with tornadoes, and the requisite highlighting with hurricanes.
Then for some; the inability will be – to see the bigger picture; with all the unnecassary force
Of incessant rains upon swollen, rolling seas.
This weather has found it’s new career.
“Those are the sounds of your body-fat dissolving under the piercing heat of this sun!” he said; the tour guide not realising if there was anyone actually there… yet to come.
Daphne’s rain was immense and abnormal; weather so adverse that individual drops of water (the size of one of her own fists) exploded mercilessly upon contact with her petite frame; her shoulders sharp; set to be coat-hanging for a lifetime.
Then at a moment; when her dry humour was her only shelter, she decided she would stand, waiting, slowly drying in her new rain; showing loyalty even beyond her understanding.