The storm rolls into the canyon
Black clouds roiling with the thickness
That comes when your mind backs you Into a corner, up against a stone cold wall
The first raindrops come
But they are not enough to dissipate the storm
That has built for years
Hunching you over
Forcing you to wear two faces.
One for public
And one for private moments
Of contorted pain.
The pain pushes you into the canyon
Where the lightning finally strikes
And the thunder cracks out
A solitary end.
A single sound.
That’s all it was meant to be.
But thunder in a canyon is not a single sound.
The air-thickening pain
Doesn’t stop at the single point.
But rolls on and on...
A sound that seems to never stop
Rolling through the hearts of those who loved you
Who leaned into the weather with you
To hold back the storm
Who came to you and asked you again and again
To keep dancing in the rain.
“The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,”
Overlooks the fact that
Of holding back thunder and lightning bolts
While backed against a wall.
The sound rolls
Over us, into us, through us.
And asks the question...
What will you do to turn
The rolling reverberations of pain
Into something more?
Turn the fearsome sound
To something of beauty....?
Something that does not split the air with pain...
Something that mends.
Because you are more.