Perfect storm

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

Mighty Sequoia

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: …

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.