The beauty of a storm is in its animation,
of what we once believed to be lifeless.
Twisting winds set free the trees to dance,
their rolling limbs move in exotic rhythm.
Grass remains anchored to the earth,
it’s legs waiving to those above.
Like the melancholy star frozen in its exquisite eternal darkness,
fear sequesters us and we do not look.
We don’t see the beaches in perfect harmony,
expelling the invaders from it’s cool embrace.
Flags flown for glory clap their fabric in applause.
Storms evoke fear because, it removes our veils,
revealing our un-evolved truth.
Like the birds of the sky, we stop gliding in acrobatic beauty,
instead rushing for the safety of our nests.
As the storm gains strength, we stop seeking the destination,
but slow in respect to its cruel beauty.
In those moment isn’t a storm our liberator and not our persecutor?