The Thunderstorm
The forcast was made; we all were prepared;
dark clouds began rolling this way;
the winds carrying dust, made vision impared;
as the thunderstorm blackened the day.
The winds gathered up much dirt and debris;
as the raindrops peppered the window pane;
though now, over land; it began with the sea;
and, the new day, became night, again.
A part of the rain, suddenly changed into hail;
falling from high in the atmosphere;
uprooting tall trees, as the harsh winds prevail;
while lightning made the horizon reappear.
The thunderstorm was another metaphor of life;
cast in the Master’s most central role;
living wasn’t designed for peace; but strife;
preplanned for the growth of the soul.
The storm carried the essence of the Master’s power;
tho the storm had thoughts of its own;
created by the Master, so his garden would flower;
and his children would soon come home.
The thunderstorm is life in its moment of creation;
all energies flowing with a sense of fury;
life was created, with a sense of obligation;
demonstrating the depths of love’s flurry.
The storm, given all power, God could muster;
rain nourishing the life in the garden above;
man was the wind blowing, with all its bluster;
and the peace, left behind, was love.
Monty 10/28/22. # 1,319