Rainforest

A storm approaches.

Crashing winds.

The sea, it churns.

Free will means little.

The rain begins.

Animals, trees, drenched.

Weeping leaves collapse,

teardrops for a better day.

Across the horizon,

bright fields, birds sing.

Their song is not for me.

Shivering, I stand.

Clouds follow as I roam.

Even the sun-soaked fields

would fade to gray.

The animals flee.

I heard a story once,

of how light prevails.

Why do we allow

optimists to write myths?