Glaciers withered within me, evaporating
into clouds of despair. I collect within a dispersal
of all that was cloudless, but now I'm slowly
reseeding within a squall of sorrows,
              withered emotions now on the cusp
of what is darkening the skies of my fortitude.

But they say every cloud has that glimmer of hope,
                        a silver lining of reflection within.
That discoloured allure faded before it began.
And now all that I'm consumed by,
              is shades of ashen contemplations.

Static discharges of emotions collide in
turbulent clashes, as words shatter
pine trees of fortitudes, splintering hearts.
Echoing from within,
                         glancing the air in discord.
Precipitation finally collapsing below.

After every storm there is a moment clarity,
where tears fell and emotions disfigured
                                another's calm ground.
Remember that when the clouds are gone
that the illumination of emotions will
shine though, and once again there is calm.