Storm Chasers

We chase storms.
Guided by trails of tears.
Bread crumbs in a forest,
Leading not home,
But into the sunny center
Inside a swirling mass
Of wind and rain.
A temporary respite.

For the storm moves,
And we follow it.
Obstinately soaking
In raindrops the size of marbles.
Survival makes us stronger.
So we jog into the storm’s path.
We have nowhere
Important to go–
But in this society,
Haste is desirable.

Yet if we would slow down,
We would notice
That the storm we chase
Has gone out to die
In the ocean
And the liquid that floods
The streets is not rainwater
But our teardrops.

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
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