The storm is brewing,
Rolling in on the sun.
Birds soar high
In the ominous sky,
Rolling in on the sun.
Birds soar high
In the ominous sky,
The air thick
With dark forebodings.
Rancor streams briskly
In the acrid wind,
The stench of cruel spite
Lingers on in perpetuity
Within abyssal mouths
Salivating with pride.
Then the hot flash,
The strobing lightning
Strikes with precision.
Hitting the innocent
With searing electrocution—
Pain causes the writhing.
Hesitation dictates
The imminent response.
The storm rips through
The village of acrimony
With disastrous disdain.
It will have its way.
The storm rolls through...
This day.
2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: September 5th, 2024 07:29
- Category: Nature
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments3
Descriptive and vivid in imagery. These images accompany the emotions of the poem and foretell the ending. Very powerful.
Thank you for reading and for your feedback! Much appreciated!
Ahh, a poem about a bad hair day! lol.
LOL! The more the merrier!
I felt the surface atmospherics forcefully. In fact such was the painful intensity, that I really had no wish to investigate the underlying emotional plane below.
A very strong write.
Wow! Thank you so much!
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