That Night of Time, Beneath Breath of Wind

My vision rapt by a calm presence;
a truth so untouched and clear
has unearthed a weakened essence
far removed from this body of fear.
Night has casts her blackened shawl;
all begins to take shape of a form
so unfamiliar and dull.
Sorrow wept through vicious storm;
clouds cursed with a thunder
that shakes a sleeper’s eye.
The screams of weathers wrath
eats my will in dire time.
Such hardened rain pounds my door.
Strikes of lightening damn the skies,
softening a grip I held before,
all lost in angry battle outside.
Have I found a lucid kind
during a raging wretched gust?
A refuge born by heavens rage;
a squall in which appeals my trust.
My truth; naked in sweat of fear
in a defiant second birth.
An absence of love held so dear
was revealed by an angered earth.
It was that night of tranquil time
beneath a haven; breath of wind.
An undoing of my mind
had spoke only by way of storm.

While Boiling an Egg

In harrowing fears the wind works against us.
Branches build within the confines of our mind,
the roots of our soul;
the harrowing fears of our very heart.
Snow pelts windows and withers trees
waltzing along the sodden pasture line
forgetting the profit and loss.
Here is no soil but only water,
no water but soil in a bogged road
where pebbles drift from mountains
who too once were the pith of a stone.
The desolate, the heavy earth,
the faded sky is loved by those
who are gladdened by simple beaten grey,
a hoary now with a lurking mist.
Not today, I've learned to understand
the love of summer storm,
but it were worthless to tell her so.