Treasure Island

Phillip Alan Green

Eye Of The Beholder

Serenity lives this peaceful morning,
The sighing of the wind through the trees,
Communicating thoughts and feelings, fortunes,
On the breath of the breeze.

The clouds then begin to gather,
People see me a little insane,
As they rush indoors, but I'd rather,
Be outside to enjoy the rain.

I pick my spot atop of hill,
As bleak blanket forms above the trees,
I feel excitement and accept the thrill,
Of fear and passion building in me.

As the sky screams, its' anger, its' outrage, its' defiance,
Sheets of pure white dance through the sky,
And all those negative feelings leave me in trance,
I laugh at those people inside that ask why.

The trees cry in helpless voice,
Rain arrogantly beats heavenly release,
I am the tempest, the storm, the noise,
Suddenly it ceases.

The storm moves on.

Wet as I am, I feel calm relieved,
Cleansed of pain, of guilt, of lies,
Disease has vanished among deceit,
And at last I begin to cry.

Submitted: Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Edited: Wednesday, June 03, 2009

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