Today

Today is a gray day,
Clouds are everywhere.
The rain is coming in the distance,
It's scent comes to meet me.
I see the lightning in the sky outlining every shade,
Every wisp, giving life to the shadows below.
I see the wind moving the leaves, the grass in the field.
Rushing to catch any and all that run from the coming storm.
I feel the chill, my skin comes alive from the cool touch.
The damp in the air, the anticipation of a cleansing to come.
I hear the roar of thunder in the background.
Breathing life into each movement, giving it a purpose of it's destination.
Then It comes,
The rain comes.
The drops fall on my skin as pin pricks,
Soft and delicate, then stronger and stronger.
Running down my skin, leaving roads of liquid deep,
Roads of precious water.
The trees dance wildly to the music of the wind.
The rain swirls and dips to the rhythm of the storm.
I stand and behold this beauty, this show of nature.
I stand and watch this display of power and care.
Today was a gray day, my favorite day of all.

My Fault

Where am I?
Who am I?
What surrounds me?
This dark,
This silence,
This pain.
Have I created this place?
In this place a thought comes to me.
Has everything I have seen and done my own doing?
Have I brought this on myself?
I fear I have.
I have caused
This dark,
This silence,
This pain.
This is my fault.

Picture perfect

They say a picture is worth one thousand words. I wonder what picture they were looking at when they said that. Was it a picture of a man whose home is a box next to a dumpster in an old, dirty alley in the city? Perhaps it was a picture of a young girl with a decision to make, save a life or turn her back on it. Or maybe even a picture of a child whose parents were never coming home because of their lack of wanting a child. Why one thousand words? What would those words say? Would they be able to tell the story of how the man lost everything because of his love of an addiction more than his love of family or a job? What would they tell me of the girl who was more scared to lose her life at school than to dedicate it to an innocent? Can they tell me what a child would do to survive in this world knowing they were not wanted, always being afraid they are not wanted by anyone? If they took my picture, which picture would it be and what would it say? Would it be the picture of me sitting alone in my room with a sketch book as my closest friend? The picture of me standing on the edge fighting to find a reason not to jump? Or the picture of me screaming silently, a hollow sound in a hollow world. What would those one thousand words say about me? Do I have a choice in what they say? What would I want them to say? Would I lie and tell a story everyone wants to hear even if I must lose myself to gain their audience, or would I tell the true story that no one cares to hear even if I must spend forever alone just to be true to myself? What would I do? What would any of us do?