Storms

A mess here, some dirt there,
I live in this filth,
In this filth, I’m there somewhere,

I’d heard, about this disease,
They call it despair,
Creeps in from crevices,
Settles in the crease

Of my divided, broken attention,
Dirtying my vision,
As if I had the courage to see,
All I saw was my delusion,
And my muddy intention.

And when I heard about the storm
In all its infamy,
About what despairs they bring,
I am unafraid of its tyranny,
Heart’s filled with it anyway,

And so I stood,
Somewhere in the mess I was,
Waiting for it to end,
Convinced there was nothing to mend
Rained like final orders from the cross,

The waters filled me up,
From all the crevices,
Battling the crease,
Of my divided, broken attention,

Clearing my vision,
Floating me away from the mess,
To the zion of my thoughts,
Taking me from what made me less,
Making me rise, and rechristen.

I don’t question, its not my place,
I don’t feel filthy, I see despair fall,
In the water, I see my face,
So that’s what peace feels like,
Storms are necessary after all.

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