Storms

Another poem. Please forgive the indulgence.

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Storms
by Tacy Stine

Storms come.
Some I weather.
Some I ride.
Some I barely escape with my life.

You were the calm before the storm,
the in-between time,
that made me believe in hope again.

I let down all my walls.
I didn’t know you would become the storm.

I left myself unprotected,
and you attacked.
Stabbed me in the heart
then ripped the knife out,
turned, ran—like a thief in the night.
A bolt of lightning that flashes . . .
           and vanishes.

And the storm rages on.

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