An ominous storm cloud rolls across the sky
a bit out of synch with what I see with my mind’s eye.
The world is coming to an end
– no news to me.
To be born again
I reckon at first you must die for the very first time.
I’ve done that before
I’ve succeeded before so why try again?
I am familiar with the calm before the storm
but I never got much education on what do next
when the skies are clear
is it smooth sailing from here on in?
Did the rain wash away the scars that had formed?
Or is it the same as it always was?
Nothing changes
it’s always the same
as it was before.
It’s a matter of which thoughts
and which memories
I choose
to inhabit my mind.
I weathered the storms
by sleeping through half of them
the psychotropic effects
of green eggs and ham.
Now the notion of romantic love
has washed to the shore
rather than cleansing the palette
it gets stuck to the roof of my mouth
like cosmic peanut butter and jam.
A Patient Voice 
Harlon, my man, another solid and lyrical piece. I’m seeing past the palette-clinger romance, with all its familiar and intoxicating weather patterns, to a resonance with my own storm-chasing of late. We must be channeling the same cosmic opportunities into our own unique arenas… I’ve been caught in your question: is this the last one, or is another one I can’t even see going to blow through in two weeks’ time? My answer, of course– after a period of time questioning the sanity of building another hopeless shelters out of my little pile of mental sticks– is to join up. Be the next storm It might be wobbly, but it’s real. I wish you a good flight and clear sailing!
Michael
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MsTranquility, don’t you just hate it when someone you love comes up with magic like the peanut butter and jam comment?! It’s like the old Hallmark card saying what you ‘meant’ to say! Harlon, this is a brilliant treatise on the reSOULution of emotional paradox! HUGS!
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I love the peanut butter and jam line about romantic love. I feel that way a lot too, lol ❤ Great poem, Harlon!
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