Crying Storms

Hers is a calling thunder.
Mine is a raging sea.
She is above me and sees
she does I cold breathe.

Our hurt is opposite sly
is the nature of our spite.
We hold hurt in spaces our
tumult we try make right.

She yells at the stars and
rebels by blotting the sun.
I introverted roll up down
deep in fathoms to numb.

Together our battles they
amount to the peril of all
who are caught in between
the pouring rain that falls.

I give her the energy she
expels back all she can’t hold.
From anger she rises tall in
the sky high to be more bold.

Her storm I try and sedate
by hands but I can not do it.
I let time run its course I try
let the tumult run until it quits.

Sometimes things change. People change. Time moves forward. We all hurt and we all hurt differently. But like it is said, time heals all wounds.

Thank You For Reading,

– Jared

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