Storms and blue skies || poem

It's Raining, mar. 2020

We just got to the park when it started,

Softly it touched my cheek. 

My thoughts started racing

Could I be as gentle as the rain? 

Maybe I'm just a passing storm.

Then again he never said he didn't like thunder.

Clear Skies, aug. 2022 

What if the passing storm

Was right all along?

I'd say I'm lucky

For the flash of lightening.

Because when a storm disappears

All that's left are clear skies and the smell of rain.