“The Calm After the Storm”

Disappointed passion is a bitter thing
Snapped willow branch, weeping,
Blown away in the breeze,
Falls, frigid water sweeps away.

Can I cry this pain away?
Raindrops of the face,
Clouds of the eyes,
Red as sun setting tumultuously.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
Poured out, guarded streams of boldness,
Held some back, still dehydrated,
Dry and cracking parched emotions.

Starvation would be bearable,
Had not its victim once known plenitude.
Solitude by nature, though desolate,
Would proffer less devastation.

Hope, where hast thou fled?
Elijah, like nature to this,
Lying prostrate, weak, an-hungered.
Cries out for death, yet it remains a stranger.

Rather, writhing, (it is enough!) helpless.
Sustenance provided. Go on, servant.
Storms pass by. Present’s similitude.
Fierce burning, acrid tempest.

Suddenly, purity, renewal. Vision, clarity.
One thing, one beauty, one Lamb.
Never-steady hopes contrast perfect security.
First love restored, all once blissful now.