The Artistry of Storms

STORMS-IN-WAITING
Like a universe of
Timeless stillness
Silence

A heavy weight of omen...
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Beyond Hay
Sullen plains of dust
Reach like magnets
To brooding billows of darkness

Serrated light
An electric scream
Strikes

Broken, wasted flesh whimpers
Parched mouths gape in hope

Serrated light

Serrated light and serrated light
Tears the dark canvas

But the canvas grows
The Artist is in control...
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Within the Western Tiers
Secret caves
Hide in shame

A flash
A crash
A booming drum

A clash of keyless sounds
Rends the darkness

And the canvas grows
For the Artist is in control
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Behind the bricks and mortar
Behind the shuttered blinds

A candle glows

And in the shadows
Faces
Faces young
Faces old
Suspended in fear
Imagining the canvas growing

Knowing
At last

The Artist is in control