The Storm, And All Poem by Ben Partenay

It's old, you're old, and well,
I'm the rain.

This isn't a new dance, once,
even I told you
this wasn't a
dance at all.
And you smiled.

Once, then, another time
we were young
and I didn't think of
all the dark days
and well,
back then
I didn't think so much
at all.

But let me
predict the future
briefly, with a short
story. Some night,
down the road I come
home,
and say nothing.

You ask me what's wrong
and I say
nothing, and for awhile
nothing is wrong,
but, nothing is
dangerous.
As dangerous
as nothing air
for fire.
Nothing lives
in a
vacuum.

Who we are is
bent nails.
Who we dream is
a hammer.

When you ask me
(as you always ask me)
Where is it
we are going?
I shrug my shoulders
and well,
someday I'll just tell you
nowhere.

I would like it to be
different.
I would like it to make
sense.

I would like to be the rain, well,
and also
the storm.