The Fight

timorously, creeping in

hoping the storm is over.

the last thunder rumblings

had ended, the rain stopped.

they are in two different corners,

like prizefighters between rounds.

taking a breath, sighing, hopeful, thinking

it was finally finished.

too closely approached,

startled by the noise,

the storm stirs, striking,

lashing out with thunder and lightning.

now I am the victim of

the storm’s fury, and now

I provide the rain.