Meditations in Gustav
I
The bottomless black of the melancholy night sky
is torn by sharp rebuke of thunder and lightning.
The bright lacerations do not remain
for pain has a way of healing wounds,
sometimes too late; at times too soon.
II
The wind moans at the shout of thunder.
Trees flinch and cower at the cacophonous symphony.
They dance, dubiously dumb,
for the unspoken beauty and freedom in the midst of chaos
speaks of the dawn to come.
III
The flagellated sky opens its eye,
yellow with jaundiced hope.
The dark despair of a wretched world
blinds its tearful scope.
It can bear to look no more.
Creation bemoans its lords...
Have we died to ourselves?
Have we died for naught?
Has death bound us in life's cords?
IV
And I sit through the storm raging
and think of things long gone,
of things long lost and things we've gained,
and those that seem to simply remain.
As the thunder resounds
through the dark recesses of my soul,
within the shadows of my mind I see a spark.
Does the light still shine in spite of the dark?
I bow my head in perplexity.
Steadily falls the rain.
By Zyreth
© 2008 Zyreth
(All rights reserved)
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