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Storm

Don't take this poem too seriously.


Storm
The sky reads “Fear” again today,
So I sift through my closet
To find the same tattered overcoat,
Worn timeless by ancestors
Who, like me,
Believed that the sting felt from hunching one’s shoulders and facing the cold
Was more bitterly felt than cowardice and prodigality

Thus, I wear the coat inside,
And contrive warmth from the prospect
That I will venture out tomorrow

Besides, I can’t be bothered by experience
Not when so much depends on my controls
I button up tight, then,
And both clothe and close my fears

Though I learn quickly
That the storm is not outside,
That what I have sheltered
Is the very gale that I fear
It reigns heavy on an already saturnine heart,
So that the deluge I see
The delusion I guard,
Is not from clouds
But from memories
Grafted like engrams on the future that I recreate daily
When I wear the coat,
The forecast is and will be always
Wind and rain
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