I stare at myself in the mirror
And wonder, ‘is this me,
Or is this the thunder
Of what seems the lightning has created?”
As I look yonder defining and
Trying to bring meaning to my regime
I’m forced to state my abilities
They do not shadow me, but resume me.
MY disease is in my perception that does not cease
Of accusing me.
I am but the aftermath of a lightning storm
And my passion lays in what seems dormant
And I say to myself, “let it be”
Because in time, I know I will see
That as I offer thunder a new face
I will bring a peace to my soul
In not smothering it, but loving it.