Stormy
Run
For shelter
Hide
Green hills are
No longer green
But turning blue-gray
Like mist
This waterfall
Flows from the sky
Gray clouds are wisps
Of God's hair
Fire
Across the sky
Searing the treetops
Call it the devil's hot
Breath whistling
Hurricane season has come
Rip the land
Rip the land
Hurricane season has come.
(c) AM Fleury
Reason for writing:
This is quite old, and also what a lot of my older poems are like. Strange. Most of them don't make sense...this one sorta does.
Birth sign: Libra
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