Change
A Petrarchan Sonnet
“A tornado of thought is unleashed after each new insight. This, in turn, results in earthquakes of assumptions. These are natural disasters that re-shape the spirit” — Vera Nazarian
Thoughts stir my mind, like a tornado in
the middle of spring, ripping infant buds
from green earth; how it quickly masks the sun-
much like ruminations I now sit with.
Memories swept in by winds, cause darkness
that I’ll never be able to outrun,
there are some storms I just cannot hide from,
can these dust devils and I coexist?
Growth comes slowly and in such small degrees;
Where once stood mighty trees, now nothing but
desolate land, that looks much like defeat,
but can forests not grow from one small seed-
holding all potential to reconstruct
fearing not the rubble it lays beneath?
