Where Lies the Tempest
Tempests and teapots are linked inside my head,
A word association some shrink would likely find
Troubling should he stumble upon it testing me
To check my fitness to roam loose with such a mind.
He'd have a field day tracking the dusty pathways in my skull;
Oddities that lurk along the crooked tracks inside my mind,
Collected there during a life not entirely sure just where,
I was going or what next thing I was going to find.
I can't say any of it was very easy all in all,
Surprises have a way of being quite uncomfortable.
My friends who disapprove of my politics or religion,
Find my haphazard pursuits the height of unsustainable.
Good thing the God I serve sees what's up ahead
And knows precisely how it all works out.
He, unlike those who think my life is unsustainable,
Speaks to me in whispers. He has no need to shout.
I hear Him when I wander woodland paths and forest streams,
Nudging me to take the trails He knows I ought.
Comforting me in rain, the wind or summer heat,
Reminding me that tempests often originate in pots.
I find I can rest assured trusting no other guide than He,
Just His whispers in my ear when thunderstorms arise.
From teapots in their majestic insignificance.
He tells me hold until the latest howling tempest dies.
© 2024 by Tom King
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