VISIONS IN A STORM
ON JULY 6, 2003 MY 30 YEAR OLD SON JEREMY PASSED AWAY. THIS IS MY ANNUAL REPOSTING
© 2003 By David Wainland
I awake to a thick blanket of humidity,
a new storm rumbles in the distance.
Lightning sheets, like the northern aurora,
hang in silvery veils in the midnight sky.
Wind trickles in and shifts the grass,
then howls and bends the trees.
Bits of life float by steamy windows,
caught up in an Everglade tempest.
In the shimmering electric glare,
I see the energy my son has left behind.
It glows like a pale ghost,
burning through my closed lids.
He strides around the house and yard,
animated in death as he was in life.
Shifting from the boy he was,
to the man he became.
He gave us a run for the money though,
I never knew he could run so far.
The gale drives closer,
many lightning bolts become one.
Thunder rattles the walls and floors,
and his image grows dimmer with each strike
I miss him and I wonder,
where he has gone does he miss me?
My wife stirs and asks,
Is there something wrong?
My hand reaches out and touches hers,
No dear, I’m just listening to the rain.