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The Oncoming Storm

Random contemplation

Random contemplation

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sigh of jun
I am the slow boil
I am the simple moments
I am the comforting joy worth waiting for,
But not explosive.
I am a solid thing beneath the feet of many,
But most do not know I exist
I am not so much an iceberg as the single story street level building
That decends into an underground city
How many people see my worth?
How many people can fathom
The lengths to which I would go for so many I know so little about?
For me it's not the quantity of my friends, but the quality.
Quality of time, quality of spirit.
Even if I have not seen you in years,
I will run to your aid,
Should you need it, and more importantly
Should you ask
I am the teller at the help desk
The store clerk no one talks to
I have all the answers, all the advice,
All the good intentions and willingness to keep my promises
But no one ever asks
I am the slow boil
I wait until nature will not let me hover quietly any longer
But-
What part of this is good for life?
I am patience unending for the things most people shout for
And I shout for the things most people put off.
Am I a contradiction?
Is it beneficial?
Or will my foundation crumble?
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