The storm hit so hard, left to right it swung
In shock I could never express myself with tongue
Anytime I caught my breath, the storm came back with a bang
In poetry I found my expression in words unsung
As far back as nursery
The storm surrounded me in misery
Although the practice of pain was not necessary
Value worth more than an answer I found, Storm’s treasury
Blessed are the poor in spirit, no more lying in the gutter
Blessed are those who mourn, no more crying because of shutter
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, no more frowns but laughter
Blessed are those who are insulted and wrongly accused, because to Jesus it does matter.
The practice of how to overcome pain was worth it
The storm in my shoe size no longer can fit
The storm molded me and now God’s glory in me is brightly lit
I say thank you to storm for every little bit.