Doubt, like wind, comes from no where,
churning up leaves and dirt in our minds
uncovering neglected graves
soaked in wet memories.
Rain rolls off proud, forgotten marble,
through stubborn clay soil
and flows into branched-cluttered streams:
thoughts piled, stuck and obstructed.
Finally the wind stops, the rain softens,
clouds clear and the storm abates.
But the scent of change lingers
exposing our fragile homes.
— by Sabio Lantz 1/2/15
11:00 pm (pic credit)