Storm
The soft rustling of leaves
touching my ear, singing
of mighty storms coming,
the strength at last to heave
my doubt, my fear of peace,
or bring glory at least
and rip me from the soft
sounds of the present loft.
The rain falling, so fierce,
washing me clean, bringing
at last a new living,
thunder crashes, roars, pierce
my ears and give me war,
through blood, mud and gore
my heart a fitting home
is found as never known.
Copyright © Jake A. | Year Posted 2015
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