Private Storms

Storm clouds roll in

Over my mind.

I’m not ready

For the rain.


Hanging above, they deliver

Me their tears

No one else can see.


I move through crowds,

The only one needing shelter.

Thunder claps deafen me to your words.


A cold, white sheet of rain

Wraps itself around me

And obscures everything from view.

Calls for help are eaten up

By every drop.


Resigning to the will

Of my private storm

I press my hand to its walls,

An act of finality…


Before the wall is pierced

By an umbrella opening.

A face hangs under it.

The face of the one

Who found me.



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