Temporary Greatness


I want to stand outside in the middle of a thunderstorm
to find out if lighting really makes the grass turn green,
see if it raises the hairs on the back of my neck
before it strikes.
I want to feel the Earth's power in my bones,
feel its pulse sync with mine, let its current consume me,
skin burning, eyes bulging, every part radiating the
ferocity of the world.
I will scream into the void in answer to the thunder until our voices
echo as one and the air shakes with the deafening trill of our song.
I will hold my hands up to the sky, wash them in the downpour,
let the clouds know we all weep sometimes.
When the ground grows soft, my feet will sink into the mud
under the weight of my being and the
wind will part around me and the space that I command.
When the storm scatters and the clouds part,
and blue skies and sun begin creeping back,
when the storm, in all its temporary greatness is gone,
I will stand before the sun.

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