I can feel the downward pull at the corners of my mouth
As if these tiny muscles had forgotten how to resist the pull of gravity
It always seems to start with the disappearance of my smile
A warning issued like the storm flags rising on the coast
The signs of the coming tempest unmistakable to any that would see
The darkening sky, the rising wind, the deepening frown.
What drives the storm, and which came first, the thought or the gale
Could knowledge of its origin restrain its progress or shift its path?
Concern shifts to how bad will this be, will simply closing the shutters suffice?
Or do I need to flee to higher ground?
As the day draws to a close, darkness settles incrementally
While the threat of a desperate battle remains unfulfilled.
The night passes slowly, sleep arriving reluctantly
Ears strain for the first rumble of thunder that never comes
Curiosity at what awaits the coming light of day
Provides the theme for restless dreams.
At the first moment of awakening awareness
Gratitude shines at the sunlight that greets me.
Hurriedly scanning the horizon for hidden turmoil
The storm, its energy spent in the darkness,
Nowhere to be seen.