The Storm

I wrote this poem on the night of December 19, 2000 as I witnessed a display of God's power through my window. I'd like to dedicate it to the boys of 111 Oak. Folks in Georgia understand the meaning of "come up a bad cloud."

I stood by the window
Watching the oncoming storm
The ever mighty flashes of
Light and the sound of
Roaring lions not far behind
The wind, yes, the wind blows
Steady against the swaying trees
Flash! Crash! Yes, feel the wind
The sky, how peculiar!
Orange, then blue, then black
Lit only by what looks like
Camera flashes in a great stadium
I pause, I glance, the storm
Moves closer, fed as though
By wild desire
I wait and wait until
I awake. What?! It's
Morn. The sun's rays have
Torn through the once dark sky
No more storm, life
Back to norm.

When you are going through the storm, remember that the Anchor holds.

Love,
Bob