here it comes.
a storm's a'brewing in the depths
of my heart, a noetic water cycle,
cumulonimbus clouds of the spirit
included, yet i remain without
an umbrella. now that i think about it,
infrequently do i find myself dressed
appropriately for such weather, trusting
such devastating rain will not fall, but
that i will find some way to evade the
onslaught that looms - usually i'm wrong.
such patterns are unpredictable and
my inexperience in soul meteorology
dims prospects of adequately preparing
for drastic shifts as strong winds of the
flesh consume and destroy my inner shacks,
and though i've heard threats of huffing
and puffing, i'm always surprised to
discover i've built my house on sand.
how can i withstand such brutal elements
as these which show no mercy to any
living thing or broken spirit? what
manner or mortar can support this
building and root it firmly to foundation
unshakeable? and will this torment ever
cease? all signs point to no, but amidst
the torrent of despair, i look for the Rock
upon which infirm housing stands.
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