UNENCUMBERED SLUMBER

The weather forecast delivers as predicted;
a wicked downpour, torrential and damaging.
All the while, I keep managing to sleep.
It is a deep doze, nearly comatose is my brain
as the rain continues. It appears she brought friends.
The lightning flashes and the rumbles never end.

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber.

Oddly, insomnia escaped me when the rains came.
The same can be said of my apnea, I wonder
if the hum of the thunder plays into my slumber?
Does the electricity cause static that makes it cling
within the ring of its timpani; a "drum" laden symphony
that pacifies my eyes allowing them to not be breached?
Does the lightning beseech my heart to remain still
until the thrill of thunder's wonder subsides?

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber

and therein lies my answer. Is it right every night
to pray for the rain that offers my tired strain a respite?
For the hypnotic roll takes full control as I lay in a heap,
awash in dream filled sleep, unfettered and undisturbed.
But, the silence of the night supplies a fright that says I will lay here,
awake all night. It is then, I thank the forecasters call for rain with thunder.

Thunder rattles my windows, but it does not disturb my slumber.

APPROACHING WINDS (A Sestinal Cascade)

The winds of change blow; they come and go,
everything in its wake is subject to an upheaval.
The retrieval of all usurped is best left for when the winds die;
unsuccessful tries will be your score until the winds are no more.
Ride out the storm, keep yourself warm, with visions of better times ahead,
there’s nothing with which to concern yourself.

Your one charge is you. Yourself.
From the day you were born, you were always on the go.
Not sure where you were headed, but it was full steam ahead,
causing your ruckus; an unspoken upheaval
that gave you a hunger for even more.
The retrieval of all usurped is best left for when the winds die.

On the day you will have died,
will people speak as highly of you, as you refused to do of yourself?
Or, will they shake their heads and lament your potential to do more?
Take your acclaim as you go,
and continue your poetic pyrotechnics despite the expected upheaval.
Ride out the storm, keep yourself warm, with visions of better times ahead.

Express yourself with more aplomb; show you are more than a heart and a head.
Carry through with worded wisdom, whether you stand and fight, or quietly die.
No one will blame you for the casualties of your upheaval,
for in the end, your passion will make them better poets, in spite of yourself.
Leave them to embrace you, or to scratch their heads as they go.
Unsuccessful tries will be your score until the winds are no more.

And if you just happen to leave them wanting more,
then get out of bed, because once again, it is full steam ahead.
The direction we all choose determines how we will go,
for life is to be savored, despite its labor, until we die.
Don’t live in delusion, you’ll find you need them as much as you deny yourself.
Everything in its wake is subject to an upheaval.

So, take up your armor daily, determined to up heave all
that tries to force your hand. Take a stand. Give them more!
You’ll find the confidence that has eluded. Treat yourself
to the accolades of which you are most deserving, and ahead
of all else, ride out the storm until the day you die.
The winds of change blow; they come and go.

As the prevailing winds go, the only obstacle to their upheaval
dies in the face of a strong will and words of a more direct nature.
Forget the nomenclature. Forge ahead. There’s nothing with which to concern yourself.