Post-storm dripping
hypnotizing
splat, splat of regrets or
blessings.
Gratitude for this quiet and
longing
for who and what are
missing.
Topsy-turvy world in
upheaval
thunder pounding a beat to
outrage.
Rain valiant in its
cleansing
of a deep and secret
corruption.
Birds venture in a day-dark
gloom
adjacent to my enveloping
stupor.
Sleep whispers as chores
beckon
which will claim the day’s
victory?
If only we, us, humanity
connected
could be washed clean by
cloudbursts.
Could know the cooling of
compassion
as my hibiscus feels the chill of
raindrops.
© Dennett 2020
In response to the September Weeds & Wildflowers prompt: Storms:
