| The storm at the window races to catch up with my tears. It bellows as I do inside, but, lucky Storm, you have winds that briskly guide your woes past. I have the blanket of God's warmth, but in such times, it's too easy to stretch your arm out to feel the rain, and then you're lost. I hear your moans, but just as God, when he hearkens mine, there is nothing I can do. Yes, He can do all, but He can't physically embrace me. I long to crush the clouds in my arms; to comfort them, if ever-so-slightly. No one can. There is no aid for the blast-swept clouds. They must weep themselves dry, only to reform and repeat the process again, though never gaining love. Some welcome the rain as I do, but most scorn it. They scorn the eye-nectar of the heavenly bodies, when the clouds are committing suicide to replensish out earth! What ungrateful wretches we all must seem. If only I could express my appreciation to those well-worn creatures. I hope they can feel my joy at their smatterings; their crackles; their roars. I wish for them to see my rapture at the brilliance of their unique light shows. But can they perceive what I feel for them? Thus be my plight. For I AM that storm. All I need is one recognition. One caring hug from another...but alas! I am not to obtain it. Dreams--all of it. The only thing I can count on is the love of my Father, as the clouds can count on my love, and hope that someday I will make it to that other place, where all my woes will be mended. Where He can give me the arms I need so desperately when I run to Him. Just wishing, and hoping, and dreaming, and praying... |
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