Monsoon Storms
Morning deprived of fresh visions upon the break
Only the rising sun peers out of darkened wake.
Natures deserted ones stand tall, alone, forsaken,
Seemingly, sagely awaiting, moisture that’s taken,
Overtures of mystical dancers float in sky.
Opaque, grayish, clouds approach seeming to sigh,
Now building up with winds, which feel the cry,
Standing before the glorious power before me now,
Tends to overwhelm but fascinates me as I, bow.
Omnipotent view sends shivers up my spine.
Rendering my mind as well, calming it like wine.
My spirit warms as sounding rain begins to fall.
Such accumulation of mist, these things I saw.
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