Teacup in a storm

 

Bad moon glowering down,

clouds are looming loud,

the mist rising, and I’m in a fog,

mind alive, but misfiring.

Lightning strikes the temple,

Head in hands I fall

into the elemental soup

of this once solid ground

that now consumes every drop of truth.

And like a teacup in a storm, 

my thoughts feel brittle,

chipping away 

 little by little . 

 

I pray to deities that will not listen,

I project words to the heavens, protect me

from the darkness climbing in.

I don’t want it to blemish this skin.

 

And like a teacup in a storm,

I’m shaking at the thought

that in a blink of an eye

this universe I've constructed

could die.

My thoughts frothing

over the gold-lined rim,

they won’t stop,

dripping

over every countertop,

until my thoughts

are overwhelming me.

 

The tides are waning, 

I’m just standing,

watching, waiting

for them

to turn

and consume me.

 

And like a teacup in a storm,

my contents are poured all over the page.

Spilt truth stains every sentiment,

split milk words taste sour,

over them all I cry, resentment

at myself for never

being good enough for me.

 

But like a teacup in a storm

my contents are still warm,

and I know that the clouds will pass

and the sun will come,

the moon will paint

a smile on the glass

surface of the seas,

and I’ll be okay,

because in magic I believe,

and in hope I swim easily.

Letting my words flow more freely.