The Storm


The storm

Looms on the horizon

Wild beauty

Raw power.

As it approaches

A silent beast,

The earth anticipates it, its prey

By becoming very hot and still.

But, when it strikes

It is no longer quiet

But raging

Like a drunken king of old.

As the rain slashes

The windshield

Tiny rapiers

We drive, trying to get home.

And in the morning

Drops shall fall from leaves

And the Earth shall be clean

And new again.



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