Storming Heart

I see my life, the reflection of the sorrow that still lingers,

Waiting for a sunlit smile to be born with the coming morning, to erase the tears of tonight.

I am not free from death nor fortune, much less from love.

And it is good to know I do not suffer; sad is knowing I don't, only because I fear to love.

The gray mornings are as dull as my love, and the storm is coming.

My heart keeps watch over my life, but tired of trying, it lets it drift away.

And some say that a lone boat reflecting the sunset is sad; I say there is no sadness to match that setting sun.

When I wished to believe in nothing, I believed in disbelief and saw that one can believe in something, even if unconvinced.

I saw then that skepticism is faith, solitude is company, and night can turn into day.

It all depends on the clouds stirring in my heart.

And now they are gathering. The storm is coming once again.

It wants to shatter my living love, to pulse through my longing heart, but now only this comes to mind: the pain of the tear that fell, the anguish my chest endured.

It's not the time for dancing in the rain.

It is time to harvest my grapes.

And if I get drunk now, it will be with my thirst for myself; my body's fire will dry the water from the sky.

And if the wine turns sweet, perhaps one day.

Who knows? I may wear a new ring.