Every storm runs out of rain

Gathered clouds of grey, brings damp invective
water fall, that sings depressions fears
angels left me bereft, neglected
my silver linings all were commandeered

What will help me lift that heavy cross
praying that the deluge will decrease
safe harbour when your world is all awash
and see a glimpse of sun, behind rains sheets

 Sun, stealing in, with just a glimmered smile
the storm now turns its back in shame
butterflies, flutter in, from long exile
TRUE; every storm runs out of rain

Refreshed to find my spirit cleaned
depression lifts, and cast a dancing silhouette
tomorrows hope, shines bright with splined moonbeams
my broken heart, feels comfort as the sun it sets

lord, it laid
the garden down
beat lavender
into the ground
and washed
our seedlings
from the soil
and all
our time
and sweat
and toil
and yet
we gather
rake and hoe
with
hopeful heart
and seed
to sow
for better
late
than never
grow
and hold
to heart
the bright
refrain
that every
storm
runs out
of rain

i
 It was a rude awakening:
flung into a maelstrom that wasn't mine,
for weeks, I kept watch over you;
stood guard like a human umbrella,
hoping the elements would batter  
this old wood instead.
But lightning struck your core
and the damage was done.

ii
Clouds blackened, as gusts were gathering.
I did not want to read the signs.
Very soon, it was pouring again.
Rain hammered us both:
me and you, shelter-less.
This storm was hard to bear—  
cascading sheets of rain falling
as the wind howled.
 
iii
The third time was deceptive.
It rained down hard,
though at times so briefly
that I almost missed it.
As it settled into a steady downpour,
you asked me in despair
if it would ever stop.
 
iv
You ventured squinting
into the sunlight.
Look behind you...
don't you see how far you've come?

**Written for the "Every Storm Runs Out of Rain" competition**

I'll never forget those moments  
devoid of light.
My eyes in denial
averting from the excruciating sight.
My will to live dwindling  
in the middle of the night.
My soul
...so tired...  
from never ending fight.
 
What was it then,  
that was so awful to behold?
It was the strength to not quit  
beginning to fold.
The blood on my hands leaving
my limbs cold.
The truth  
that I chose  
to never grow old.  
 
The rain had come down  
too hard  
and too fast.
The demons undefeated  
returned from my past.
In my minds eye,
the future
 too bleak to craft.
And with the sharp blade,
 my own veins I slashed.
 
Yet through the glinting haze
of insufferable pain,
and the utter submission  
to guilt and shame,
the hope of a different
life ignited a flame
and I live on today
for it seems that the clouds had  
run out of rain.