The Storm


United States
39° 25' 46.7076" N, 84° 30' 42.2352" W

Rivers, made of streets, rushed by;
rising higher
through the night.

Houses crumbled to the ground;
people lost and
dead were found.

But the storm has not yet stopped;
climbing, desperate,
to the top.

Cars and trees were swept away,
in the light of
coming day.

Though we worked with frantic speed,
we couldn't save them;
now, they're free.

As the daylight finally broke,
my faith, once lost,
suddenly 'woke.

A sign, placed on a roof-top torn:
'we will praise You
in this storm.'

(Based on real events that occurred May 2, 2014. Written on May 4, 2014.)

This poem is about: 
My community


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