Enveloped by nubilous darkness
Transfixing the lightning seams
Entreating, bolts for forgiveness
And a coalescence of solidarity
Deafening, the raucous thunder
Rendered silent by a lesser man
Listening to every transgression
Synchrony without and within
Consumed by torrential offerings
Pouring heart and passion forth
Inundated by tearful effluxion
Drowning in sympathetic remorse
Touched by the blossoming fingers
Embraced by the incalescent form
Consoling, the stentorian whispers
Welcomed into a perfect storm
Electrified by savage potential
Illuminating falsehoods and truths
Commingled, they the outcasts
Evanesced beneath brilliant dawn
art: overcast by len-yan
Paused beneath the
red stoplight’s luminance;
lulled by the engine’s purr
on a dark, drizzly morning; a
mist reflects across the
and he thinks of her
photo by: me!
Whether wither weathers freeze
Or whether weather weathers trees
Whether weathers wither knows
Whither wither weather snows
A rose upon the coffin lain
A storm felled petal, perfection’s bane
This abyss’ edge o’er which we peer
Will flood with rain cut with a tear
Me: Mighty Sequoia, why is it that in all but the heaviest downpours, your roots remain dry?
Sequoia: It is because the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve grown, and the deeper my roots burrow into memory far away from the influence of the sky. Only the most unforgiving rain can churn the memories, muddying the soil that time has buried.
Me: Mighty Sequoia, I hope one day I’ll have grown as much as you.
Sequoia: For now, little one, suffer not the shade cast by those around you, relish the warmth of life’s fleeting sunbeams; but also, cherish the rain when it falls, for it will surely strengthen your roots, and in time, you’ll have grown beyond your storms.