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Lover, you were a hurricane A tornado The typhoon to explain why some sailors never made it home And I used to call you mine And I used to call you after work And I used to hold your hand
The sky is a green stagnant swamp. The marching thunder approaches, More rapidly with every peal. Dawns light tries to infiltrate, But it is muted by the oppression , Of the vault of steel clad clouds.
Last night the breeze sang a lullaby. This dawn it screamed in howls. The distant rumbling approaches, Unlike the peaceful quiet of last night. The wind is lifting swirls of leaves.
A tornado is usually defined as a storm, or violent winds, circling in a funnel-like shape. But not all people know the second definition of a tornado: a person or thing characterized by violent or devastating action or emotion.
what captures the earth's wonder, takes us to new places, and leaves us with happiness or heartbreak on our faces? it paints us to another and carries entertainment's greatest masterpieces
In California, the purest of the states. I once lived in a city that thought of having tornadoes. Pictures cast in the cafateria wall, pictures of tornadoes. Within first glance, that fear haunts me.
The clouds are swirling. It is a dangerous sight. It sucks up our day.
Thank you, tornado When I was ten, you whipped through town Sirens blared I thought nothing of you, told my friends “My mommy isn’t hiding in the hallway Mommy says there’s no bad weather”
A rush of wind Hair swaying in the Autumn skyEyes like sunsetsLook to beautiful scenes ahead
The sky is falling Storming and squalling The wind is whipping And clouds are tripping The trees are tumbling Cars are bumbling The power is stunning
The sky begins to turn black, The thunder rolls on, The winds pick up, And the storm moves in. The grass sways and stirs, The animals grow wary. The storm has arrived,
I am a tornado in constant neutrality between anger and content carrying itself on, destroying whatever is in front of me, unapologetically.
The faces fade to ash Photographs discolored to the sickly yellow Of rotting buttercups and stagnant sunlight Captured in dust-coated rooms Disintegrating into something less than nothing
Lying still, fur marred with dirt I lie lost in the land destroyed by wind The ground lay still now Leaving behind remnants of a once loved town My heart lay still The world turns on People walk over
Things that were so large now seem like nothing at all When residents leave their shelters they can't help but fall Material possessions that used to mean so much Now they just need a loving touch.
I am the center of a tornado Everything around me is crumbling and crunching They are spinning and spiraling out of control But here, here at the core Is my peace, my bliss
Rolling skies Tennis Ball sized hail Spring is here
My heart speaks out To all the survivors of Moore No person should ever experience that The feeling of being torn