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THE STORM


Right before my very eyes,
A storm gathers every day.
Hell breaks loose, vultures feast,
Little birds get trapped.
I do nothing but walk away.
Courage eludes me, fear numbs me.
I try to save my skin,
Yet the aftermath haunts me,
Nags me, reminds me of
The blatant display of cowardice.
Nests break, hopes shatter.
Before they pick themselves up,
A new storm gathers.

Comments

RiĆ  said…
I could picture it while i read it.
Saru Singhal said…
Lovely. Loved the way you weaved the poem around storm, though symbolic.:)

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