by Chelsea Donahue
You’ll hear them in the wind and crashing waves,
A deafening storm as loud as the one within.
You’ll see them in that empty field,
Among the tall grass and blooming wildflowers.
You’ll feel them one day as you sit and cry,
When the sun hits your face and dries your tears.
Until one day the sunset is beautiful again,
So you silently thank them for the picture
Of blues and golds and pinks.