Wednesday, May 18, 2011

The world is upset just over the horizon
She cries insatiably
Or so I have been told
By the intoxicated writers
Who push the angry clouds that bear
Pleasure and pain through the sky
With their words that match God
His angel's, Thunder and Lightening, tear pages
From the Heavens of Hell
The flowers bow in reverence
Possibly out of fear
Stems desperate for the blessings that dance in each rain drop
The trees shed years and surrender
The ink that runs through the veins of trunks
Full of treasured thoughts
A storm of shallow anger that blow short gusts
Of fire at the soles of Mother Earth
For even the eyes of a storm's mystery shall have a crack of sun

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