Storms (Sonnet)

Last night's thunderstorm, incarnation of
angry power, storms of life stop you in
your tracks. Sleepwalk until crash awakens
you, fear overtakes you, and you can't move.

Eventually, your thinking improves.
But the sudden flash, in my opinion,
of lightening, hurts less than the forsaken
drip, drip, drip, drip of the daily deluge

of rain, bad news and disappointments, dead
ends and terminal delays, like stepping
in a deep puddle while a car, spraying
you with water, speeds by. Fills me with dread

to read the weather report and study
my to do list. My spirit feels muddy.

© Christine S. Davis, 2019



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