Posted in 2015, poetry, Ruminated Scrawling


A cold storm is brewing

up there in the sky.

The clouds swirl all around

and the strong winds begin to blow.

Finally the rains come

soaking the ground quickly.

People run around below

bracing for the storm.

And when it arrives

not a soul will be outside

because there is danger

to be found in such a storm.

But a voice can be heard.

“I love you, don’t go.” it whispers.

And at once the storm quells

with the final gust of wind

being a simple sigh of relief

leaving behind only scars.


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