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The Storm

December 13, 2011
I woke wondering if the world was ending.
I huddled in bed listening
to the back door rattling on it’s hinges,
watching the eerie black claws of a tree branch’s shadow
dance to a jumpy, off-skew rhythm.
Lightning snapped too many negative image photographs of my bedroom.
I wandered the house looking for destruction.
I marvelled that four walls and a roof
create a pocket of safety in the center of violent passion.
This morning the world is a strange loveliness
like a fantastic reality.
Like a gift
Like sun on glass
*note: sometimes (rarely) I dabble in poetry.  This was written a few summers ago after a storm.
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One Comment leave one →
  1. Sarah permalink
    December 13, 2011 10:08 am

    I can’t write poems 2 save my life…I luv snuggled in bed during a storm……

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