Another Storm

A wet black wind from the South blows in, its clouds
Veil the sun and draw on premature twilight.
The rain will start soon now; I hear the fat
Water droplets strike the ground like hailstones,
Strike my skin with a brief icy bite. I 
Want it now, want the raging storming floods,
The blasts of air bending the trees and tearing 
The white, pink, and purple blossoms from the
Crepe myrtles to lie a vibrant carpet 
On the earth. Such would match my black mood, my 
Periodic gloom that often howls within
And rears its bellowing head once again.
I would see it reflected in the world
That I might feel consonant with it, might
Fling my soul into the heart of the storm 
To let it fly among the whirling winds,
Leaving the mundanity of my life
Behind me for the floods to wash away.

-Iakobos

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