The Storms

by MARTY SOARING EAGLE MARTIN

The clouds roll in,
the thunder roars,
the lightning flashes,
the storm clouds release their burden
upon all below.

It matters not our color,
it matters not our race,
it matters not whether we are rich or poor,
it matters not whether sinner or saint,
the same raindrops touch us all.

None are immune to the storms,
whether they be the storms of nature,
or the storms of life.

We are all subject to the same illusions,
the same disillusions,
the same conflicts,
the same struggles,
the same decisions,
the same temptations,
the same mistakes,
and the same inevitable end.

We all have the same needs;
to love and to be loved,
to be accepted,
to be wanted,
to be needed,
to forgive and to be forgiven,
to feel that we have worth and value,
to feel that in the grand scheme of things
our lives mean something.

That we are not just a mere speck
in the vastness of the universe.

That we are more than just another grain
in the sands of time.

That to someone, somewhere,
our lives really do matter.