can it be that the truest form of self
is the last vine still clinging to its battered tree
in the aftermath of the fatal dance
of absolutes and inconstancy?

and the wind that brutally bludgeons the earth
is the full force of life's endless uncertainty
that erodes the façade of innocent intent
and exposes the raw spirit of Honesty's being?

and a hurricane gains its momentum from pain
that has stirred up the waters of Redemption's ocean
and the ocean's heat meets Determination's cool
and their explosive dance serves to avenge Love's devotion?

then a cloud in the sky is not certainly sad
and a drop of rain doesn't imply grey emotion;
if the fury of Nature is not so reckless at all,
let us dance in the torrent and destroy common notion