I Am The Storm Poem by Melissa Casteen

The rain falls cold and fast- shards of glass wrought in fires of bitterness and resentment.

Trees, buildings, lamposts and dusty cars weep with gratitude, their dirty tears running in torrents into the streets.

The wind weaves its way eerily through branches and chimes, whistling the tune that sends children running to their mommies.

Jagged streaks of light fork and knive their paths across the sky- teasing out roars of protest from resentful clouds.

I can't remember a more beautiful night in a long while.