The storm outside my window
crashes presumptions against the glass
that is about to shatter
under all the pressure
I wish to be as free
as the weather
Scraping leaves from the trees
scattering them around
painting a new image with them
on empty houses' windows
The weather is the true artist
because it drowns our restless thoughts
with lightnings and
roars of the damned gods
We are so small
arguing with nature
Concentrating on the noise inside us
when the thunder tries to free us
distract us
from all we could live without
The weather
the nature
is simple
a minimalistic mind
[07/17]
