Welcoming the Storm

By Ezra Case

It begins in a meadow, with stillness abound.
I stand in the meadow, with creatures around.
Still, not quiet, where creatures are found.
Bugs in the grasses, moles in the ground.

The chaos is quiet, yet continues abound.
Rustling stalks and leaves all around.
Buzzing and chirping, in the grasses, they’re found.
Howling wind, not touching the ground.

Winds do strengthen, a tempest does form.
I walk from the meadow, to welcome the storm.
Cause the grasses to tremble, and weather reform.
Lightning to deafen, raindrops to swarm.

Rain does pelt, from clouds that form.
Now in the forest, it’s passing, the storm.
Drowned out by the rain, streams soon reform.
Plants grown green, though insects do swarm.

Leaving the forest, towards land more dry.
As I walk, the land does rise to brush the sky.
To mountain peaks, where only birds fly.
Whistling wind, tumbling stones, falling from high.

Split and broken, stone wind-dry.
Clouds do rise, above the sky.
Where not birds, even fly.
Snow has fallen, from on high.

The peaks I walked, on the stones I stepped.
Down the mountain, I walk, adept.
Now to the ocean, as time has crept.
Rushing tides, and sands unkempt.

Shells do crack, upon being stepped.
In breaking waves, none walk adept.
Given their time, the coasts have crept.
Blowing winds, eroding stone, shores unkempt.

From shores, I walk, to countryside.
Rolling hills, without subside.
Seaside abandon, without a guide.
To grassland, to where the winds died.

A path does form, through the countryside.
Even then no sounds subside.
Through fields of grass, one may guide.
From sun’s burning heat, plants oft died.

Howling replaced by bleating sheep.
A road beyond, to a village asleep.
The path to tread, in a forest deep.
I walk the road and do not weep.

A city is found, with no sheep.
Where few truly fall asleep.
The chaos is loud, and noises deep.
Perpetual, chatter, unending, weep.

A city is chaos, bound in chain.
Break one link and this becomes plain.
Centers of discord, tense with the strain
Far more wild, than civilization’s great bane.

Life does wander, life does stray, life forever a broken chain.
Wrinkled skin, on a face once plain.
The touch of time, showing age’s strain.
Crackling bones like crackling flames, age is vitality’s bane.

I stand in a meadow, having traveled the realm. 
Having seen many lands yet never stood a helm.
With such time this place has grown, now a tree does overwhelm.
At the foot of the tree, I rest at last. The tree, an Elm.