The Storm

I'm not sure if this can be called a poem. I wrote it 25 years ago, when I was going through a really tough time in my life. I found it again recently when I was sorting out some papers.

The storm clouds gather and the familiar thundering brings furrows to my brow.

My mind flees for shelter, as the tumult rolls in upon me.

The winds of pressure rise and I'm tossed this way and that, until it seems my very being will break under the strain.

The downpour strikes at my heart with icy spears of apprehension and dismay.

Lightning shafts of discouragement penetrate my spirit as I submerge beneath a deluge of self-pity.

My vision is impaired; this tempest is an affront to my plans - the future is bleak and desolate -- foreboding.

Oppression broods ponderously overhead.

Lord, is there to be no end to this strife?

But wait! Off in the gloomy horizon is a tiny patch of blue!

My heart takes flight, out of the storm and into the dark dispelling Light.

With a sigh of resignation, the now-defeated squall sweeps away the last dark cloud, as the song bird in my heart breaks tremulously forth into melody.

Living, loving streams bubble up through my spirit, cleansing as they flow.

The heaviness and dross have been washed away by the fiery rains of the Holy Spirit.

Now the air is cool and fresh; my vision breathtakingly clear, as shafts of Son-light reflect through a rainbow of hope.

Lightness and joy envelop my very being, as I step forth with renewed vigour; determination in my heart, and a fresh commitment on my lips.