Seasons of strife, fear, and doubt
come to everyone,
When twisters touch down, the lightning
is close, invisible is the sun.
Kindnesses scarce, love seems run dry,
and time is your nemesis,
backs on you are turned,
little you’ve learned,
but bear hurt and malice.
Shoved to the wall,
destruction will call,
magnet to death’s very door;
your mind you have found
unstable goes ’round,
so much pain in store.
The time when it’s past,
you hope it will last,
and let you recharge like you should,
and the thing you say, at the end of the day,
“I am boring, and boring is good.”