Storm Struck

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These wild winds blow and fling the spray

Across the head, wildly stirring rain and wave

Until a grey mist tears at gorse and palm

Like the breath of ancient dragons;

Roused from slumber in the murky deep

They howl above the clouds and drive us safely

Behind stone walls and blazing fires, fearful,

Waiting out their heavenly tantrums.


And when the roar subsides, and monsters

Take their rest again beneath the froth and boil,

A low and watery light signals out the day;

Dimming as it stoops towards the edge of

Our tomorrows, it leaves us shivering, with

Memories of winter storms and cruel tides that

Raged against the day to remind us, who

Claim the sea, of our most insignificant fragility.


January 2016

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