Storm

Hey, here we go again my friend

We never did like to quit until the end

The air grows thick the sound goes dead

The wind kicks up the sun flows red

I look for reassurance from your face

A stone cold grin; no sweat of fear to trace

Chilling breezes flow all through this place

My heart feels that pounding familiar race

Of a long, cold winter’s night

Knowing no boundaries of such fright

Knowing if either pain or pleasure is right

Weaker eyes have shut to such a dismal sight

But mine stay open encumbered by the onslaught

Now upon us, strongest winds ever fought

A searing sky of bolts’ light shot

Yet you, my friend, still still as stone unrot

The ground shakes her angry head of hair

Flowing waves of dissonance against the air

“It has come!” I yell to those that care

A sudden blasted ocean flare

I fall and sweep into the waters flask

Relax and pass into the subconscious mask

Void of pain or pleasure, a Stoic’s task

A candid, feverish dream to bask

My friend, the statue, was not taken down
The King of Storms wearing a seaweed crown
It appears I lose, my thoughts resound
For the last of moments before I drown
The last of moments before I drown

-Stephen G. T.