Petrichor

The pouring rain,
the thunder claps;
the numbing pain,
the shackles clasps.

My perseverance
is wearing thin.
The rain is soaking
through to my skin.

My eyelids
heavy as the clouds,
half-way down,
I can't control them now.

But angels from heaven,
do walk the Earth.
A sudden miracle happens,
the dark clouds clear.

The sun springs forth,
its smile reflected upon my face.
Bright blue tears away the grey cloth.
With new passion, depair is replaced.

The storm is gone,
leaving nothing but a scent.
Marking its place
in the building of my strength.

A seedling
flourishes in light
but without water,
it cannot prosper.

I shall never forget
the oppressive pressure of the rain
slowly moulding my character
into what I am today.