Posted in 2015, poetry, Writing

The Hailstorm

The hailstones hammer against the roof.

The wind howls outside the walls,

And all the while I sit here wondering

How on earth this all began.

Here I have lived for years,

And here I hope to stay.

The past has long since gone past

And all I have left is the future.


I wonder where I will go

In those times that have yet to come,

If the hailstones will still be hammering away,

And the wind will still be mournfully howling,

Or if in those days the sun will shine

And steal all the tears away.

I wonder if I will still be here,

O if I will leave for another life.

I wonder if I will write then,

Or if my fingers never dance upon the keys again.


And so I wonder where I sit,

Listening to the hailstones hammering,

And the wind howling outside,

And I decide upon one thing.

I will be here but changed.

I will be changed in many ways,

Not all of them good ways,

But it is best not to wonder

What bad will come to me,

When they may never come.


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