Beauty Of The Storm

Sometimes I hurt
When I reflect upon the times
We walked different paths
And she sought to be comforted
In the arms of another.

I hurt because I couldn’t be there,
But mostly, I am broken
That she had to settle-
For boys, no less,
Who have not the depth
Nor emotional capability to handle
A simple gust of wind,
When she is the whole damn storm.

I wish I could go back
And teach them-
To smile at the pouring rain,
To look towards the sky,
To feel the amazement they should have.

But, in the midst of this beautiful monsoon,
They were too busy lapping at puddles,
To lift their heads and be quenched.

In the same mind,
I took advantage of my hydration
For years.
Yet in the drought,
I came to fully appreciate the beauty
Of the storm.

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