Thunderstorms

There is an oppressive feeling in the air.
The sky lowers angrily
And there is an air of expectancy,
About the atmosphere.
Then! What’s that?
Suddenly, a CRACK! and droplets of water,
Thousands of them fall through the air.
Splattering the pavements with rain, and
Creating rivulets of cleansing water,
Through the city,
Which scuttle in the gutters.
Tiny rivers. Little rushing rivers.
That wash away the dirt of days past.

A friend lost, to distance or death.
Or even just a disappointed expectation.
Many things in this life
Can make us shake with fear.
Trials and hardships
That shake all that we believe
Or simply make us wriggle
‘Cause we don’t know what’s next.
Tests come in all different sizes,
And often, when we think we’re not ready,
They’re sprung on us, or may come
In a simple, slow and steady pace.
They even may be long in coming, or long in leaving, too.

Trials can sometimes
Seem more than we can hold.
And we can’t see
That any help will come.
“There cannot be a dawn,” we say,
“There isn’t any hope!
I am locked into my misery,
And it cannot do me good.”
We laugh at those who say that clouds
Have a silver lining. For we say
“They can’t be right. And I’m the only one to ask!”
But we are often cleansed and washed
By the most oppressive trials.