Saturday, August 27, 2016

She is the Storm



The storm was approaching,
gray arc of purest omen.

Around here, cover was in short supply
while comfort was an ideal fallen short.

Then she proclaimed:
I AM THE STORM.

And the harsh rain-shoving
wind now took heed of her,
caressing our faces as a balm,
or a familiar caller late in the night
as the thought of the next morning
seemed brighter for this company
so sudden it strikes like a tornado 
out of high gray shrouds of mist
looming over the thrum crash and burn
of this city where comfort and cover
so often come at a rough premium.



~

2 comments:

Cloudia said...

Wow you really reminded me of being young and struggling to make it in the city! Great

eric1313 said...

Thank you! The city has so many levels as an idea that it's a near-perfect metaphor.

Thank you for reading here, Cloudia!