not even a buddha who can
count the raindrops of a storm
that last a thousand years
can understand another persons karma

The way I have dealt with my traumas
Has varied.
They have moved as swiftly
As the seasons change,
And have always adapted to the current climate in which I live.

For a short while, I could pretend as though
Nothing happened.
I could pretend as though my pain was as
Invisible as their ability to love me,
And that I was as unaffected as
An old oak that has weathered storms past.

Then came my acceptance, and my fight.
I fought.
Hard.
To be seen, and heard, and believed.
But alas, this was not to be.
It was then I learned, that sometimes silence is what is needed
To weather a great storm.

Then came the talking.
With endless cups of coffee,
And whistles that glowed in the dark,
I learned what it truly meant to share my pain
With one that would not tell my secrets.
Who could not tell of the demons dancing throughout my head.
To truly learn that trust can
Also weather a great storm.

Finally, has come nothingness.
I try, desperately to forget the remaining threads that
Tether me to my memories,
Even when I still can’t sleep with my back away from a wall.
It is not a time I wouldn’t be keen to forget.
There is no storm worth remembering to weather.

There is no storm worth remembering.

My inner vision's carrying me
To a boat on quiet seas
To a place where I can be
To a place where I am free
A place of such tranquility.

That little boat's been torn and tossed
In the storm I was so lost!
Then I knew the deadly cost
Satan brews a poison sauce...
Washed away upon the cross.

Now, free of iniquity
The scales washed so I can see
There is no "them" there's only "we"
Jesus died upon the tree
All is calm on port and lee

I have true tranquility.


SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
2022

Crackling; it cracks, and cracks,
shaking the centre of glass,
Shaking the voice of words to comprehend.
As like in the ocean's centre,— undermined of where
it begins or ends.

Falling to the ground; a strike through darkest
weary clouds. It falls to the ground; loud as Lucifer
had fallen out of Heaven,— as with all those angels
kicked out.

Rumbling, and rumbling, falling lightening like
mountains. Rocks that are tumbling, tumbling,
and tumbling to crush.
A crushing feeling is on my skin; peering through
clear glass shadows.

The first echo of thunder; has left a crack on my
windows.

the dark brooding cloud
that hangs some way off
is the distance between us
supercell of anxiety
will it rain or just
dissipate
is the thunder threatening
or just the rumblings
of a fresh summer storm
after a heatwave

we both look at the forecast
for tomorrow
and with heavy hearts
see what the long range
predictions are
there may be some
patches of sunshine
in moments when we forgive and forget
the odd warm day
here and there
but we both know
winter is coming
and snow is on the horizon

I first remembered years ago,
At twenty-something,
Speeding along in a 240Z
With my father.
Apropos of nothing,
I suddenly remembered it all,
The pain, fear, chases
And flights up stairs,
Only to have her catch me,
And feel the pummeling fists
Like a mad horse’s hooves,
Treading me down.
Back in the present,
My father was admiring trees
As we buzzed past them,
Unaware of the storm beside him.
She wore him down too
In a different way,
With constant denigration.
Over the years I watched
As he shrank way to
A painful, infested brain.
Unlike me, he had no defense,
Loving her as he still did.
It was as if he chose cancer
instead of anger or rebellion.
I had raged against her
And stood tall from childhood
To the now, when thunderheads
Rose from me above her.
Long ago, she had been
The random bolts from the blue,
Causing pain but not killing.
Now I am the storm,
Gathering over years,
Sweeping up heat and vapor
Sending and receiving energy.
The lightning bolts are truth
And their pain is admission,
Though never bringing remorse.
I am the storm warning her to run,
While knowing that she never will.

Edited October 2, 2021

Iron gray storm clouds
Hug a ***** desert city
Gritty
With years of dust
And rust
Mistrust
And disgust
Heavy rain
Slaps against a grimy face
Leaving clean streaks in its place
A highlight
To the plight of the homeless
Thunder rolls forth
In this ironclad storm
Down here it's the norm
I find it soothing
Almost meditation
In form
Helps me inform
Myself
Oh well
Thoughts gone
Another monsoon
In Tucson

As I sit waiting in the storm,
My car buffeted by the wind
And pedestrians leaning
At impossible angles
Those few who dare
Perambulate

I watch the ferry that will
Carry me back approach
The dock at a crazy offset
With wind driven waves
Smashing in spite
Against its side,

Outrageous weather
And red travel warnings
Everywhere yet this ship
Will sail and on it will I be
With my car and with my son
Travelling anyway,

And such is my life
In many ways,
For there are many waves
Hurled against me
And the winds that set against
Are huge,

But ships are safe alongside
The Dock
And I would be if I would
But acquiesce
But ships were not built
For harbour's shelter

But rather for the open sea,
And therein lies the issue,
Ships should brave
The oceans swell
And so the same
For me