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Storms Coming

mossfalls (2)

Sheets slide through sooty sky

soaking, swelling, splattering down

slick puddles slowly swallowing earth

Thunder clap tears through cloud

taking tympanic toll on truth

trembling and twisting twirls its echo

Wellspring of wind winding past

whipping wildly the weary soul

wanting to whisk away waning reality

All of it anointing one alone

angry, arrogant as though arsenic

Afloat on ashen sea awash in its wake

Not noticed missing yet not missed

nothing to aid as shelter from the storm

never knowing how near to truth they’d come

Karen Quinn 2013


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