For When The Storm Comes.

While I have been banned to my old, sputtering laptop, I’ve come across some old writings stored away. I’m surprised this archaic box managed to save them properly; as I sit here and type, she’s wheezing and chugging with attempts to stay ‘on’. Le sigh. And I can use that in a non-internet-fad sort of way because I’m French. Okay, so French Canadian. Toe-may-toe, toe-maht-toe.

One interesting piece I came across was a poem. Collectively in the span of my life, I’ve written a total of (maybe) ten poems. I’m just not a poet, and I know it. I ain’t* afraid to show it. Alright then, I’m done.

The poem was written several months after my then boyfriend, Ray, passed away very unexpectedly at a young age. I was tormented inside and nothing around me made sense. As with all hard times, sometimes we draw within ourselves to a dark place before coming out to see the light again.

The writing struck me because it’s from such a different mindset than I am in now. I’ve always stewed on things. I’m not the kind of lady to air my dirty laundry and say how I’m truly feeling. Most times, people get the generic response they’re looking for. However, back at this time period, I was so heartbroken, I didn’t just stew… I muddled.

Now four years later, I at least attempt to handle my emotions in a much more positive light. Don’t get me wrong, I’m the first one to yell out every word your Mother would wash your mouth out for, on a bad day. But I try. I really do try. I’m a work in progress, what can I say?!

Courtesy of: Toni Grote,

“For When The Storm Comes”

It wasn’t raining outside;
But inside, the storm skies unrolled
The air turned electric, seconds before the lightning did not strike
For the lightning had struck already…
A memory so close the vibrations could be felt;
Yet so far, she had to close her eyes and give herself away to remember

For the lightning had struck already
And left unmentionable damage in its fury
Not all damage is visible by sight
Damage is felt in ongoing vibrations in the memory of the storm

She sat staring, wide eyes closed
But sight is seen, even with eyes closed shut
Sight is seen all too well

The rain could be on its way again
If it didn’t show, she’d send for the storm inside
The lightning would soon flash shadows on the wall
Shadows not even the darkest heart could hide

The thunder would rumble and crash
Bringing about the familiar tremors
A familiar old friend

You can’t fear the storm not yet approaching
You need to fear the storm that has already passed

* “Ain’t” literally is one of my least favorite words in existence  You will rarely hear or see me use it. The only justification I have for it is: 1) It worked in the context. 2) It’s listed in Webster. So either Webster has some ‘splaining to do, as Ricky Ricardo would say, or I begrudgingly must accept “ain’t” made its way into the same book as beautiful words like “skullduggery”, “bewilderment”, and “majestic”.

One response to “For When The Storm Comes.

  1. Pingback: A Writing Flashback. | The Siren's Tale

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