THE STORM

The Power of the Hurricane

As I step outside and view the storm
something entices me to stay out in harm's way to watch nature at its best.
There's clouds that are all shades of blue and black with the lightening
opening up all around me.
I watch in awe as there is a pink color everywhere.
A kind of abyss that we don't understand.
The meeting of opposites cold and hot.
The way my body felt today as it undergoes changing once again.
As one time my body passed the red dark blood from my secret place
and now nature has taken away the blood and left in its place
an older wiser woman but not the womanly trait that gives life.
Now the only thing left to produce is death as I age.
When ask why I read out of reading glasses,
I reply that my lenses are harding preparing for death.
As the world cannot produce anything but a storm to damage I
in turn cannot produce so I go into a trace.
Hot and cold just like the storm.
Fury and sometimes nice
But different none the less.
I can compare with nature as it takes its action against
two forces.
I hear the rain pounding on the tin roof.
My legs restless pounce up and down in anxiety as I feel the storm in
my veins.
I feel safe. I have age. I have left the woman behind.