You still come to mind sometimes,
when I’m sitting in my room
on a bleak June day,
the sun hiding behind the blackened sky


You loved storms

Thought they were
beautiful, even though some
took life with them
when they left

You always could find beauty
in a difficult time.

So maybe I’ll write you
a poem to read
Because thats what you loved to do.

I’ll write a poem that reflects raindrops
that roll off oak leaves
and that flashes lightning
in the distance
A poem that roars thunder
like a lion

A poem like a storm,
like you,
here one minute,
gone the next

I’ve tried to seal you
away, but the padlock is
rusty and just won’t keep
shut.

So maybe I’ll write you
away. Show you that
you do not define me.

Because you are a
coward who loves
poetry and storms
but your fingerprints
are still burning
on my wrist

maybe thats what
rusted the lock
All along